


Repulsed

by Amuscaria



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Secret Relationship, Shameless Smut, drunk Sansa
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2020-10-11 23:29:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuscaria/pseuds/Amuscaria
Summary: Sansa Stark is repulsed by Sandor Clegane. Truly! Completely repulsed. So, so repulsed. Did you know she was repulsed by him? She can't stand the man and that's a fact.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a one trick pony. Once again, everybody is six years older in this story than in the books, which makes some characters a bit more mature, although Sansa is still a sheltered girl raised by a septa. The story is entirely in Sansa’s POV and I wanted to explore how the difference in age and perhaps some wine would affect her thinking and the events around her. Which sounds very deep, except that it’s mostly just smut.  
Also, I’m still not a native English speaker, I still haven’t been to an English-speaking country, I still don’t have a beta reader. I don’t have any feedback on my English, so if I keep doing something wrong, please tell me, because otherwise I’ll never know it’s a mistake.

Sandor Clegane was awful. Sansa sipped her wine, observing the man quietly. He didn’t even acknowledge her presence, he was just staring into the wall. And yet they’d spent two hours together yesterday, talking the whole time! Alright, he might have been mostly growling at her and they talked only about animals. But it was the best time Sansa had had since the death of her direwolf. She’d even laughed when Clegane told her about the silly dog he’d owned as a boy. She had felt content as he described Westerlands, described the place better than any of Sansa’s favourite poets. She’d assumed that things would now improve between her and the giant man, they could almost be friends. Sansa dearly missed her friends. She’d always been a good friend, Clegane should appreciate that. But today, he ignored her altogether. He let others call him the Hound, he even had a helm in the shape of a dog’s head. An ugly dog’s head, no real dog was this ugly. And he was wearing a tunic. Decorated with an embroidered dog’s head. Sansa wondered whether he had a dog’s head embroidered on his breeches, too. Not that she ever thought about his breeches, she was a good girl, she’d never do that. And Sandor Clegane was horrible. She’d never try to get closer to him again. Never.

Sansa looked over the table. Her betrothed, Joffrey, was just starting to enjoy himself tonight. Which in his case meant he was tormenting one of the hall boys, laughing about his looks in front of everyone. Sansa tried to redirect Joffrey’s attention to the delicious cakes, but Joffrey didn’t care about them. He didn’t have any good interests. But he was a king now, he could do anything. He had even killed Sansa’s father, the Lord of Winterfell. In two moon turns, Joffrey would marry her. Rape her, no doubt. And once she’d give him enough children, he’d probably get rid of her in some particularly amusing manner. Sansa emptied her glass of wine. 

It would probably be Cersei who’d kill Sansa anyway. Joffrey’s mother liked to talk about all the possible deaths Sansa could encounter after all. On Sansa’s seventeenth name day, Cersei had used the opportunity to remind her that from now on Sansa would only get uglier and uglier. Sansa’s beauty was perhaps crowned with silky, auburn hair, but redheads aged terribly, Cersei claimed. They died more often in childbirth, too. Red hair attracted more attention, so any cutthroat would choose Sansa as his first victim, obviously. So many ways to die. So many ideas that brought smile to Cersei’s face.

Or would it be one of the Kingsguard who’d kill her? They didn’t mind beating her for Joffrey’s amusement after all. All of them had hit her at some point or another. All except of Sandor Clegane, Joffrey had never asked him to beat her. Sansa was a captive of the Lannisters, they could do anything with her. Perhaps Joffrey was saving Clegane for a special occasion, he wanted him to be the one to kill her, cut her in two. Well, that would be fast at least. But Clegane wouldn’t do it, would he? Out of all the men in the room, he was the only one who’d sooner kill the king than obey such an order. Sansa was sure of it. Joffrey wasn’t saving Clegane for something special, he was scared. Scared that his favourite dog would disobey him in front of everyone. Clegane had been like a father to Joffrey, Cersei claimed. And yet the swordsman was bitterly disappointed at the boy, it was obvious. He’d betray Joffrey for Sansa and Joffrey’s head would explode from the sheer shock. Sansa smiled into the glass, delighted that for once it was Joffrey who was terrified of the reaction of others. Did it haunt him? Did he have nightmares about Clegane betraying him?

When Joffrey had Sansa stripped down and beaten in the throne room, Clegane protested, he reproached Joffrey. Even though nobody had paid attention to him, Sansa remembered it. Just in the moment when it looked like the Hound would jump to her defence, Joffrey’s uncle, Tyrion Lannister came to the throne room and put an end to her humiliation. It was nevertheless Clegane who gave Sansa his cloak to help her cover herself. He would never hurt her, she knew. But now, when she finally met Clegane’s gaze and smiled at him, he scowled at her again. What an insufferable man!

“How does the new jerkin suit me, Lady Sansa, what do you think?” Joffrey asked her. He was truly convinced of his beauty, wasn’t he? 

“It suits you very well, Your Grace,” Sansa hiccupped. Oh, no, she'd hiccupped. Everybody could hear it, everybody!

And Joffrey immediately used the chance to mock her, of course. “What was that?”

“I beg forgiveness, Your Grace,” she peeped. Would Joffrey humiliate her now in front of everyone, for not behaving properly?

Cersei chuckled. “The little dove can’t handle her wine, it seems.”

“But wine brings out the truth in people, doesn’t it?” a dangerous gleam appeared in Joffrey’s eyes. “Tell me, my sweet bride, how do I look tonight?”

“You look like a king from old tales, Your Grace.” The one who got stabbed to death by his courtesan. He had evil eyes in all drawings, too. How could have Sansa ever thought that Joffrey was pretty? He had golden hair and he always wore a lot of gold, too. But there was nothing precious about his soul.

“Lady Sansa needs more wine, don’t you see?” Joffrey called out and within a moment Sansa’s glass was full again. 

“No, thank you, I…”

“Drink,” Joffrey ordered her, smiling.

“Your Grace?”

“Surely, you don’t have to be afraid of enjoying wine in front of your betrothed? You have nothing to hide in front of me.”

Sansa took a sip. “It’s very good, Your Grace.”

“Then empty the glass.”

“I have drunk enough, Your Grace.”

“You refuse to obey me?” Joffrey asked icily. 

“No, I…” Sansa swallowed and took the glass into her shaking hand. She didn’t want to get beaten again. 

Clegane’s mouth was twitching, but he still didn’t look at her.

“It is good wine indeed, isn’t it?" Joffrey was eyeing Sansa, waiting for some entertaining reaction. "Sooner or later you’ll be able to drink it from your brother’s skull," he continued to provoke her. "It adds to the taste, they say. Wouldn’t you love that, Lady Sansa? Don't you want a new cup?"

“If it’s your wish, Your Grace.” Why did her words sound so odd? Almost... inarticulate.

“More wine!” Joffrey ordered and turned to Sansa again. “It is my wish. It won’t take me long to defeat the traitor. What do you think, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa hiccupped again. Her head was spinning, and she had a funny feeling in her stomach. But she had to concentrate. “I am sure you will be victorious, Your Grace.”

“Why don’t you empty the glass then? Don’t you like our wine?”

Sansa took a deep breath and drank some more. Did he want her to be sick? Would it be humiliating enough?

She didn’t know how many glasses she’d drank already. Too many. But when Sansa didn’t say anything that could be used against her, Joffrey grew bored of his new game and started tormenting someone else. Even the back of his head looked evil.

Sansa had once overheard washerwomen discuss charms of men in the Red Keep. Not one of them named Joffrey as someone desirable. Not one! They all liked Jaime Lannister the most, but nobody liked Joffrey. The women had also claimed that it was important for a man to be really big, which Joffrey wasn’t either. Sansa didn’t actually agree with that sentiment, but she was always glad when somebody found Joffrey lacking. Sansa’s own father wasn’t particularly tall and he was the best husband to her lady mother. Well, except that he had fathered a bastard child. And brought the babe to his wife, so that they would raise him along with their legitimate children. And he argued with his wife when she happened to be hurt by his betrayal. Did Clegane have any bastards? Sansa didn’t think so. And he was so loyal, he’d probably be loyal to his wife, too. When the washerwomen had mentioned him, they giggled about the size of him, wondering how big he was. What was so funny about that? Sansa wasn’t sure about Clegane’s precise height, either, but he was enormous. And he was strong, too. Much stronger than the rest of the Kingsguard. His large hands were not ungentle, though, he’d touched Sansa seven times and he'd always been very careful with her. Clegane would make his wife feel safe, he would never allow for his wife and children to be hurt, or held captive by his enemies. May be the washerwomen had a point.

But Clegane was so angry, he would probably be horrible to his wife on their wedding night. He’d ruthlessly strip her naked and just have his way with her, he was so awful. But he’d keep her safe, Sansa decided. And he'd kiss her a lot. Everywhere. She bit her lip. She felt odd wetness pool between her legs, she didn’t like it. Clegane would probably laugh at her. Not that he would ever know what her body was doing. He’d have to spread her legs and touch her with his rough hands to know. Oh, dear, what a terrifying thought! Sansa was absolutely mortified by the idea. It was inexcusable of Clegane to be putting these thoughts into her head. He thought about these things, didn’t he? Of course he did, he was awful.

Clegane would never be a good enough husband for Sansa, of course. She was a Stark, her ancestors were kings and queens of the North. He was only a second house of a minor house. Serving the Lannisters, not the Starks. And Sansa was known for her beauty, while he had a half-burnt face. Oh, yes. His brother, Gregor Clegane, had shoved Sandor’s face into burning coals when they were children. Sandor Clegane had told it to Sansa himself. Only to her. Nobody else knew the secret behind his scars. He never confided to anyone else but Sansa. Surely it meant that they were friends now? Not that she cared. He was still awful, always angry. And ugly, so, so ugly. She was positively repulsed by him. Sansa emptied the glass. Yes, repulsed! She would ignore his drunk ramblings next time.

“My sweet dove,” Cersei turned to her. “That dress is too small on you, have you gained weight again?”

“Yes, Your Grace, I have. Fortunately,” Sansa gave her a polite smile and hiccupped once more.

Oh. Had she been disrespectful? Well, Sansa didn’t care, she’d gained weight exactly where she’d wanted and she was finally starting to appreciate her adult body. At least she wasn’t losing brain weight like Cersei. Oh. Sansa bit her lip. What had happened to her? These weren’t ladylike thoughts at all! She hadn't really meant it, Seven have mercy on her sinful soul, she was a good girl, she never had such shameful thoughts!

Cersei looked over Sansa with a tight smile. “You seem tired, my dear child. We do not want you to make a fool of yourself, do we?”

Sansa pursed her lips and stared straight into the woman’s eyes. Cersei was probably the most beautiful woman in Westeros, Sansa had once wanted to be exactly like her. But Cersei’s eyes were cold and calculating. Even with all her perfect features she could never have the beauty of Sansa’s lady mother. Lady Catelyn had a more tired face and she wasn’t covered in as many jewels, but her eyes shined with love and care. Cersei was no match for Lady Catelyn, how could Sansa have ever admired her?

Sansa tried to be very dignified and withstand Cersei’s stare with the fortitude of her lady mother, but then she hiccupped again, which ruined the impression a little. And she was dizzy, oh dear, she was so very dizzy.

“Clegane!” Cersei called out. “Help Lady Sansa into her chambers, will you? We can’t allow her to embarrass herself further.”

Clegane was by Sansa’s side immediately. Joffrey wasn’t even paying attention to her, which was fortunate. But one strong arm helped Sansa to steady herself and leave the room at least with some dignity. As soon as the door closed behind however, she couldn’t stand on her legs anymore.

“My head is spinning,” she complained.

Clegane sighed. “Of course it is,” he murmured and touched her. He was touching her!

“Oh!” she yelped as she was suddenly lifted up.

“Careful, little bird,” the giant man rasped softly. 

The Hound didn’t care about propriety at all! How positively appalling! Sansa quickly wrapped her arms around his strong neck. Clegane was indeed very strong. Strong and big. And he lacked manners, he was always rude. He was so scary, exactly the type of a man Sansa found extremely unattractive. She disliked him very much. He smelled nice, though. He smelled of wood, steel and horses. A bit like north. And he was holding her with so much care, nowhere else in the Red Keep did she feel so safe as in his arms.

Why was Clegane so tender? He hadn’t even smiled at her the whole day. After they had spent the whole evening talking! He had no right to be kind to her right now. He’d always been horrible to her, he should at least be consistent. She’d embroidered a beautiful ribbon for him once, right after he told her about his scars. She spent the whole night working on a gift that was supposed to raise his spirits. But when she sought the man out and gave him the ribbon as a favour at the tourney, he yelled at her. He yelled at her that she was stupid for ever getting alone with a man, he yelled at her for trusting him. She cried then, she’d cried about it many times. He probably threw the ribbon away immediately, he certainly didn’t show it off at the tourney. The memory still hurt. Perhaps Sansa should have gifted it to him in the company of others, although now she at least knew how awful he was. She wouldn’t be fooled by his soothing voice. 

“You’re alright, it’s alright, you’ve done well,” Clegane assured her. “When I’m in my cups, I try to forget who my king is. You even remembered all your courtesies, you’ve done well, girl.”

“I’m never in my cups, I’m a lady!” Sansa protested.

“Is the lady going to be sick?”

“Ladies are never sick.”

Clegan smirked. “You should try to explain that to Cersei one day.”

He was growling at her as usual, but he looked rather relieved. Why was he relieved? 

“You thought I would say something improper?” she asked.

The Hound’s mouth twitched. “It’s what our dear king wanted, wasn’t it? He’ll try again, I’m sure.”

Sansa rested her head on the man’s chest. It was a very comfortable chest, large and strong. And Clegane wasn’t even pretending to be loyal to Joffrey anymore. Sansa and Sandor talked together like two allies, like friends. Sansa smiled into his chest. 

“You should pretend to faint next time,” Clegane advised her.

“Why do you say that?”

“You can’t risk provoking him, girl, it’s a dangerous game. If Joffrey makes you faint, he might be happy enough about that, too. It’s better to get out of that situation as fast as possible.”

Sansa bit her lip. The Hound had even come up with a strategy, he wanted to help. Like a true friend.

Sansa looked up, inspecting the man’s unfortunate face. Clegane had a large, hooked nose that would never allow his face to be pretty. And one bushy brow, he should try to give some shape to that thing. And scars, such horrific scars. His lips were half burnt off, there was a hole instead of his cheek and even his jawbone was showing. But despite it all, there was surprising softness in his eyes. Had it always been there?

“What?” he growled.

“You have eyes of a northerner,” Sansa noted.

He swallowed. Now there was insecurity in those grey eyes. Why hadn’t she noticed it before? He had such expressive eyes. Beautiful eyes. She could feel his muscles tense up under her palm.

“You’re so strong.”

“Stop it!” the man snarled, his body shaking.

“Forgive me, ser, I didn’t want to hurt you, ser.”

“Not a ser. And not interested in your courtesies, either,” he grumbled.

Clegane was scowling. He should have repaid her with a compliment, say something nice. But Clegane never said anything nice. He’d once got drunk and slurred to Sansa something about her hips being too wide, teats bouncing too much and her hair being all wrong. A shiver went down Sansa’s spine. Nobody had ever talked to her like that, Clegane didn’t know his place at all! And what did he have against her breasts? Other women’s breasts moved, too. And Sansa was wearing very modest clothing, he couldn’t possibly see anything inappropriate. And her hair was always admired, why didn’t he like it?

“You said yesterday that Stranger had the prettiest mane,” Sansa remembered. She wasn’t bitter about it at all, she was merely curious what Clegane found pretty. Instead of her hair.

“What?” 

“Could you introduce me to him?”

“You want me to introduce you to my horse?” Clegane repeated incredulously. 

“Yes!”

“You’ve seen him already.”

“But I haven’t even touched him.”

“War horses are not for touching,” Clegane’s mouth twitched. 

“Ah, you’re just afraid he’d like me too much,” Sansa proclaimed victoriously.

Clegane huffed. “You’re so drunk, little bird.”

“Ladies are never drunk, only tired,” she had to correct him. “And animals love me, you’ll see when you introduce me to Stranger.”

Clegane shook his head and carefully opened the door, carrying Sansa over to her bed, where he laid her down with touching gentleness. Sansa didn’t let go of his neck, making him stay bent over. She’d trapped a giant. She giggled about it for a moment, enjoying her power. She wanted Clegane to promise her that he’d introduce her to Stranger. She missed her direwolf Lady so much, perhaps she could at least go to see Stranger every day. And then she'd have a chance to talk with Clegane some more. They'd solidify their friendship.

“What are you doing, girl?” Clegane asked her, mere few inches away from her face. He was so close she could count his lashes.

“Will you take me?” 

“What?” the Hound breathed out. Oh, now he even looked scared!

“Don’t worry, I won’t steal him from you,” she assured him mercifully. “I’ll just bring Stranger some treats here and there. When will you take me to him? Tomorrow?”

“Seven hells,” Clegane roughly pulled himself out of her arms and for a moment they both scowled at each other. “Didn’t I tell you that you shouldn’t talk like that to anyone?” he snarled at her angrily.

“Like what? I’m not talking to just anyone, I’m talking to you!”

“Exactly! That makes it even worse. You can’t trust anyone in this bloody place, girl! What will it take for you to finally understand that?”

“But I trust you.”

“Well, you shouldn’t! I’m a dog, remember? A Lannister dog. If anyone ever has to carry you anywhere, don’t ever… seven hells. You’ll just ignore them, do you understand?”

“That would be improper, ser.” Sansa decided to pretend that her words came out completely articulate.

“Stop it!” Clegane was angry again. He was always angry. “You really are a stupid little bird, aren’t you? Next time Joffrey tries this game on you, at least pretend to faint. And don’t try to be courteous to guards, just bloody ignore them!”

“But what if I need something from them?”

“Then you’ll come to me.”

“You said I couldn’t trust you,” Sansa reminded the giant pointedly.

“Then don’t get into any buggering trouble!” Clegane had a very deep voice that reverberated through her entire body. Horrible voice, of course, raspy. Manly. So, so manly. But when Sansa reached out her hand to calm him down, he flinched away and stormed out of her room. Without another word. He didn’t even bid her a good night! 

Sansa’s maid soon appeared to help her out of her southern dress and the horrible southern updo. Sansa was rid of the jewels, she was finally wearing only her night dress and with her hair in a simple braid for the night, she finally looked like a northerner again. What would Clegane think about this style?

Clegane was like a northerner, too, Sansa didn't know why he didn't want to hear it. It was the best compliment Sansa knew. But he was such an awful person, so unreasonable. As Sansa was falling asleep, she hugged a pillow, remembering Clegane’s strong arms around her. How rude he’d been to her! How improper! She truly couldn’t stand the man.


	2. Chapter 2

Sansa’s head was hurting, but what was worse were the memories of her improper behaviour from the previous night. She’d drunk so much wine she hadn’t been even able to walk! And while Clegane had carried her to her chamber, she’d wrapped her arms around his neck and talked to him like a fool. She was a proper lady, this wasn’t like her at all! And the wicked thoughts the wine had put into her head, the mere memory of them was sickening.

As soon as Sansa got a chance, she ran to godswood to pray and ask for forgiveness for her sins. She’d even thought about Clegane’s body the previous night! How was that even possible? She was so repulsed by him, she didn’t want to imagine such things! She would have at least understood if she wondered about Ser Loras, or someone she actually liked. But since she’d thought about someone so ugly, those were obviously not her own thoughts at all. It was the wine. The wine and Joffrey had put strange ideas into her head. She would never drink again, she was a good girl and she hated wine anyway. Sansa prayed for a long time, before she felt the peaceful acceptance of the old gods again. She then continued to pray to the Seven. Ever since her father had been executed in front of the Great Sept, she hadn’t been praying as much to the Seven as she should have been. She’d lately found more peace in the religion of her father. But she was determined to honour all the gods of her ancestors, she’d work on her improvement from now on. No, she would never drink again.

On her way back to her chamber she stopped by the kitchens, hoping to see her friend again. And she was lucky, because Alson was there all alone, bent over a pile of pears.

“M’lady?” the girl’s frown turned into a delighted smile as soon as she saw Sansa. “Can I do something for you?”

“No, no, I just wanted to see you. How are you?”

“I’m fine, m’lady. Today I’ll be making the pear pie you liked so much!”

“Ilove pears!” Sansa beamed at her. The day wasn’t as bad after all. “And how was it yesterday? Did you get your money?”

“Oh, yes, m’lday, I got three pennies, can you believe it?”

Sansa smiled. The girl deserved so much more and didn’t even know it. Sansa was very fond of Alson, the kitchen maid was always sweet, much kinder to her than any of the highborns in the Red Keep. Alson’s parents had come from the north and she often made delicious deserts that reminded Sansa of her home. Alson was also the one responsible for making the most magical pies and even lemon cakes! She was so talented. Sansa didn’t have much to give the girl, so she at least gave her lessons on how to count her money and avoid getting deceived. She wished she could do more, but Sansa didn’t have money of her own. And when she’d told Cersei about the cruelty of some cooks, Cersei acted as if Sansa had particularly disgusting interests. Sansa needed to find a way how to improve the conditions in the kitchens. Perhaps she could tell Joffrey that the cooks would love him, if things changed. Would it help?

“Thank you so much for speaking to the cook,” Alyson continued with excitement. “She couldn’t believe a proper lady like you even knew her name! And mine, too!”

“Well, let’s hope she won’t try to cheat you out of your wage again.” 

“I don’t think she will, m’lady, she’s really scared of you.”

Sansa blinked. Blinked. And then she had to laugh out loud. It was such a bizarre idea that somebody could be afraid of her! She didn’t want people to view her like that, but if cheaters were scared of her, she wasn’t going to complain about it.

“Don’t you…” the girl looked around herself. “Don’t you want a pear?”

“Well…” Sansa did want a pear, but in the south ladies didn’t usually eat such common fruit just on its own, it wasn’t ladylike.

“Here,” the girl spared her of making an unladylike decision and gave her a pear anyway. Sansa hesitated a little, but the girl understood her immediately and added two more pears. Sansa smiled at her. Alson was the perfect friend! Sansa had never thought she could be more content here, by the back door of a kitchen, than in the glory of splendid halls. But these days the moments of solitude with a trusted friend were more precious than anything Sansa used to want. She wasn’t the naïve Sansa of Winterfell anymore, now she knew that even the prettiest kings could be monsters. All her naiveite had died the day her father was executed. 

“You know, you should call me Sansa,” the redhead decided.

“But, m’lady, I can’t…” the girl’s eyes widened.

“Do you have something against my name?”

“No, of course…”

“Then use it,” Sansa smiled at her. It was sad when Alson had to go and Sansa was left alone again. She hid the pears in the pocket underneath her petticoat and she headed back to her chamber. 

It was sad how much Sansa had matured. When she walked around the beautiful towers, she didn’t even look up to admire them anymore. When she saw the gardens, she didn’t marvel about the exotic plants. When she passed the stables… she bumped into Clegane. 

“You!” the giant growled instead of a greeting. “You’ve really come to see Stranger?”

Oh. He was… he was shirtless! Completely. Completely shirtless. He wasn’t wearing even the slightest hint of a sleeve. Sansa could see everything. Everything! She’d just collided with a half-naked man, this was even worse than getting drunk.

But Clegane was still saying something. “I thought you’d be too sick…”

Surely this was the largest chest in the world. And those muscles! Oh, dear. It was ugly, of course. But his arms, they were huge, so huge. And muscled. Those were the arms that had held her the previous night. No wonder he could lift her up with barely any effort. And she hadn’t been scared at all, she’d felt so safe in his arms. He’d been very gentle with her, he had even tried to comfort her at one point.

“Doesn’t your head hurt?” Clegane hadn’t stopped talking yet, had he?

He was hairy, too. So very hairy. Like a beast. A true beast. And ugly, yes, he was particularly ugly. Seven have mercy, Sansa had leaned her head against that massive chest the previous night. How would it feel to lay her head on his chest now, without the barrier of cloth? Horrible, of course. Horrible. Was his skin as warm as she remembered it? Was the hair on his chest soft, or coarse?

“…I’m surprised you even remember anything, girl…”

It was fortunate that Sansa wasn’t drunk anymore, or some awful thoughts might have still haunted her. As it was, she didn’t pay any attention to Clegane’s body. She was a good girl, she was repulsed by a mere thought of a man’s form.

But then Clegane grabbed her hand. “Answer me!” he snarled. “Has someone hurt you, girl?” He was crushing her arm. What a savage!

“No, I…” she mumbled. 

“Then what’s wrong with you? Have you lost your tongue?”

“No!”

“So what? Why did you search me out? Why now?”

Sansa swallowed. She looked at the hand that was painfully squeezing her arm. Clegane followed her gaze and immediately flinched away, hiding his arm behind his back. Why was he doing that? He was such an odd man, she’d never understand him.

“Just… give me a moment,” he grunted. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move!” He hurried to the opposite side of the stable, where she could see something resembling a pile of clothes.

As he moved, Sansa briefly got a glimpse of the arm he’d been hiding. It was a normal arm. For a giant at least. A large, muscled arm. Granted, he did have a ribbon wrapped around his wrist, which wasn’t very practical, but it was nothing to be ashamed of, either. A ribbon. An embroidered ribbon. Sansa’s mouth fell open. He had a ribbon wrapped around his hand! Her ribbon! The one she’d given him such a long time ago, when everything was different. Sansa stared after him, smiling. So he did appreciate her favour after all! Had she made him happy? She’d always been so great at gifting people.

But a surprising noise interrupted Sansa’s thoughts. Stranger. He was neighing loudly, restlessly pulling at his rope. Her seemed very agitated, was he anxious? Sansa rushed to him, stroking the horse’s mane. “He’ll be right back, don’t worry, Stranger.”

The horse froze immediately, staring at her in astonishment. She continued nonetheless. “You’re safe with me, Stranger, I’ll keep you safe.” The enormous stallion blinked, still unmoving.

“Clegane will be right back,” she kissed Stranger’s muzzle, which only seemed to shock the horse further. “Don’t be afraid,” Sansa comforted him. “We’ve already met, remember? I’m Sansa and I love horses.”

Stranger tentatively sniffed at Sansa, his ears pointing forward. He eventually relaxed, so Sansa brought up a pear. “Would you like one, Stranger?” she offered it politely. The horse eyed her for a moment, but then he carefully took the pear in his mouth. He obviously still didn’t know what to make of Sansa, but it was a great progress anyway. And Stranger clearly loved pears very much, after the initial hesitation he chewed on the juicy fruit with great enthusiasm. Sansa beamed at the pretty horse. Her horse in Winterfell, Princess, had worn many beautiful cloths and hairpieces, perhaps she could sew something comfortable for Stranger, too. Weave a few flowers into his mane, braid…

“Get away from him, girl!” Clegane roared. “Get away, come here!”

Sansa and Stranger both looked at the man in surprise. “What is wrong, ser?” 

Clegane didn’t respond, in two steps he was by Sansa’s side, dragging her away from Stranger. He was dressed now and Sansa couldn’t see his ribbon anymore. “Where has he bitten you? Show me! Has he kicked you, too?”

“No, we’ve just been eating pears.”

“What?” Clegane gasped.

“Oh, yes! I don’t think you give him enough pears, he loves them. And I already love him!”

“Stranger?”

“Yes, he’s so cute!”

“Stranger?!” Clegane’s voice broke funnily. “He could have killed you, girl! Don’t you realize how stupid it is to get close to him?”

“It’s not stupid, I know horses.”

“Then why in the seven hells do you take such a risk? Nobody in this bloody castle dares to go anywhere near him!”

“Well, then they are those who don’t know about horses. Stranger likes me. Don’t you?” Sansa went back to Stranger, who’d been watching the conversation intently. Sansa had always been good at recognizing animal feelings, it was a talent shared by all the Stark children. But Clegane kept his one huge hand on her shoulder, squeezing it even more when Sansa stroked Stranger’s head. The horse produced a few soft, appreciative snorts and Sansa turned victoriously to Clegane. “Well?”

“Fine,” Clegane growled. “But he could have killed you. I know you’re used to direwolves, girl, but you can’t just go to any animal like that.”

“You do it,” Sansa pointed out. “You weren’t afraid of Lady at all, even when everybody else was.”

“That’s different!” he snarled.

“Why?”

“Because it’s me,” Clegane’s mouth twitched. “I won’t die of one bite like some little bird.”

Sansa pursed her lips, looking up at the man defiantly. Why did he have to bark at her all the time, why couldn’t he act like a normal friend, like Alson?

Stranger chewed another pear even more eagerly and Sansa had to jump away, otherwise the pear juice would stain her skirt. Clegane smirked. “Do you want to see something?” he rasped into her ear. He had such a deep voice, it sent shivers down Sansa’s spine.

Sansa nodded, not considering her answer properly. She hoped he wouldn’t take the shirt off again. 

Clegane left her alone with Stranger for a moment, but then he returned with a saddle in his arms. “It’s custom-fitted for Stranger, you see how it takes the pressure off his spine?”

“That’s beautiful!” Sansa admired the craftsmanship. The saddle was all black and rather robust, so much different than any of the elegant saddles Sansa had seen in King’s Landing. “It looks like something made by our Cordell!”

Clegane looked at her in surprise. “Well… yes, I had it made while we were at Winterfell,” he admitted hesitantly. “Northerners know about horses, I have to give you that. Nobody here knows how to make a proper saddle like that, everybody adds some useless shite, just because it looks good or it’s comfortable for the rider, never the horse,” he snorted. He brought up another saddle. “I have two, you see? One saddle for when I have my armour on, one saddle to use when we’re just going for a ride.” Clegane wasn’t awful for once, he even looked proud. “Stranger doesn’t want anything else anymore, I should have bought more.”

“That would have been very costly, Cordell is the most expensive saddle maker in the north.”

“It’s bloody worth it. Stranger is the best horse in Westeros,” Clegane lovingly stroked Stranger, who seemed to be very aware of his own importance. “I’m telling you, little bird, more northerners should come to work in King’s Landing, such skills would be paid in gold here.”

Sansa shook her head. “They’re better off without the gold, safe in the north.”

Clegane’s enthusiasm wavered. He looked down at the saddle, avoiding Sansa’s gaze.

But Sansa didn’t want him to be uncomfortable. “Are you ready for the winter?” she asked. “What will Stranger wear?”

“Winter? That’s a problem for another time,” Clegane shrugged.

“But winter is coming!” Sansa reminded the man. “Stranger is not of a northern breed, you need to be ready if the weather changes tomorrow.”

“Well, if the weather changes, I’ll deal with it then.”

“And in the meantime, you’ll let Stranger freeze?”

“No, seven hells, I’d never…” Clegane looked offended. “I have a few things I could use.”

“Winter rugs?”

“No. Look, girl, you don’t have to teach me how to take care of my horse. Stranger has everything he needs. Only the best things.”

“He has now. But you should plan for the future, too,” Sansa contradicted him. With each encounter with Clegane, she was getting bolder. She was now convinced that he was on her side, she wouldn’t let him scare her anymore.

“And why should I? What in the seven hells do you think you know about future? Your beloved king might have everyone executed tomorrow, or he could decide to burn down the whole city. Why should I plan for the future?”

“Because you can,” Sansa replied haughtily. “I had a fitting for a wedding dress today, you know. I have fifty eight days to go. I can’t fight, I can’t escape. I don’t have any choice when it comes to my future. You do. You can make your life whatever you want. And since you’ve taken the responsibility for Stranger, you need to plan for his future, too.”

Clegane glared at her. “You think I have many choices? Because I serve such a wonderful family, don’t I? Because I’m such a comely knight!”

“As far as I know, you’ve refused to make any oaths, you’re a free man. And no, you’re not pretty,” Sansa said mercilessly. “I am. Do you want to switch places with me? Would you prefer to be raped by Joffrey?”

Clegane looked away again. He brushed his fingers through Stranger’s mane, his hand trembling. “What if you have more choices than you think?” he asked quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“Somebody could take you home, to Winterfell,” Clegane shrugged, still facing away from her. “Smuggle you away before the wedding even happens.”

“And who would that be?” Sansa raised her brows. “You told me yourself, ser, I have no allies in King’s Landing. If anybody here was serious about helping me to Winterfell, they’d at least have a proper winter rug for their horse, wouldn’t they?”

Clegane finally turned to her in surprise. “But you wouldn’t… you wouldn’t be against the idea?”

There was so much vulnerability in his eyes. Should Sansa hope? Should she consider escaping with Clegane? It was a stupid thought. Improper. And terrifyingly comforting. Ever since her arrival to King’s Landing, whenever she’d believed things could get better, they only got worse. She shouldn’t believe. She couldn’t. Besides, a lady being alone with a man, escaping together, that was completely unacceptable.

Her heart was about to jump out of her chest. Would the Seven take mercy on her, would they let her escape? Clegane was standing very still, watching her intently. And then, somehow, their hands touched. Sansa was sure neither of them moved, it just happened. The man did indeed have very warm hands. Sansa swallowed. “I have to go,” she whispered and without looking into Clegane’s grey eyes she hurried away from this confusing place. She could hear Stranger’s protests, but she couldn’t turn around.

Clegane’s words haunted her for the rest of the day. She’d tried to emulate her mother, respond like her. But the truth was, she didn’t know what to think. Even if Clegane offered her an escape, she’d have to refuse it, of course. Reputation of a lady was more important than her life. Not that Clegane would try to harm her, he wasn’t his brother. Would it be that bad if they travelled together? He’d keep her safe, even from himself, she was sure of it. He’d always tried to advise her, protect her.

He was awful, though. He didn’t have any manners. Perhaps he’d even make her sleep next to him! Sansa trembled, squeezing her thighs together. It was a terrifying thought. All alone in a forest, just them and wolves, her laying her head on the man’s hairy chest, having his arm wrapped around her, him playing with her hair… she’d die of shame. But perhaps it was the only way. Joffrey had murdered her father and he’d rape her, surely it was a more virtuous choice to help her family and keep her purity? If she escaped, the Lannisters would lose the leverage against her family. And even if it meant she’d have to share her personal space with Clegane, perhaps it was her duty to withstand it with quiet bravery. To help her family. The Hound may be wasn’t even interested in her as a woman, he still saw her as a little bird. Sansa frowned. She’d never seen him with a woman like other members of a Kingsguard, so perhaps he didn’t like women at all. Sansa shook her head, disliking the idea. No, of course he liked women. Clegane had talked about her body several times. Her body. Nobody else’s. Sansa blushed. Well, perhaps if he tried to steal a little kiss from her, she could graciously give him one. Just a little one, chaste and ladylike. It was only polite, if he were to help her escape. Would the Hound fight for the Starks, too? He was the best swordsman in Westeros, he’d even won the Hand’s Tourney, Robb needed men like him. Clegane would become the greatest northern asset and he’d get a nice castle, a title. And a kiss from Sansa. Yes, it was proper.

All things taken into account, Sansa didn’t really have any choice after all. If Clegane was to offer her an escape, she’d have to accept it. Out of duty. And if she was mistaken and he was not going to take her to Winterfell… Sansa scowled. No, he’d been clear, of course he’d help her. They’d both save each other from Joffrey. It was like something out of a song. 

Sansa didn’t even know how the day went by, she’d forgotten herself in her prayers and all the godly thoughts. As the evening neared, Sansa decided to go to pray to the godswood once more. Soon she’d be dining with Joffrey and Cersei again, she’d need as much help of the old gods as she could get. This time, she took the shortcut through the training yard. She didn’t like the place, but this way she’d have more time for her prayers. Even if it meant she would have to see Clegane’s savage fighting style again.

Clegane wasn’t there, though, only Boros Blount was sparring with a man that Sansa didn’t know. Sansa backed out as soon as possible, she couldn’t risk being alone with Ser Boros. He was the worst member of the Kingsguard, he was cruel, always beating her harder than anyone. He was ugly, too, but not like Clegane at all, Blount was just a hideous creature. 

Why wasn’t Clegane there? His shift was starting right before the dinner, he should be sparring now, at this time he was always in the training yard! Had something happened to him? Sansa wandered around the castle for a moment, before returning to the training yard once more. And Clegane still wasn’t there. Sansa sighed. She just wanted to pray, anyway, it didn’t matter whether she saw the Hound, or not. But when she reached the godswood, she didn’t feel the peace she’d been hoping for. She was worried now that their morning conversation had got Clegane in trouble. Perhaps he’d been imprisoned, beaten.

Luckily, on her way back from the godswood, she could finally see the Hound’s massive form. There were a lot more men training now and Clegane was there, in good health, sparring with Ser Boros. Well, it didn’t look exactly like sparring. The Hound was mostly just amusing himself with knocking out the sword out of Blount’s hand again and again, until Blount spent the whole time picking up his sword instead of actually training.

“Stop it!” Blount protested, furious.

“But I thought you wanted to spar,” Clegane replied innocently. “Forgive me, ser, I assumed it meant that you can hold a sword.”

“Seven hells, I can, if you just…”

“If I what?” Clegane disarmed him effortlessly again. “If I don’t move while sparring, you might stand up straight for a moment?”

“Bloody hells…” Boros grunted, picking up the sword again.

“What’s the matter, Boros, you can fight only little girls?” the Hound provoked him. 

Boros charged against Clegane, but the man moved swiftly away and the knight fell to the ground.

“Me standing still won’t help, either, will it,” Clegane noted in a bored tone.

As shameful as it was, there was something thrilling about seeing Clegane humiliate Ser Boros. It almost felt like he was there to defend Sansa’s honour. She knew that their disagreement had nothing to do with her, he hadn't even noticed her, but still. It made her smile.

“Lady Sansa!” a soft voice caught her off guard. Sansa was afraid at first that it was one of Cersei’s ladies-in-waiting, but then she realized she’d never seen the beauty. Who was she? She looked familiar.

Sansa masked her confusion with perfect politeness, but the girl didn’t even introduce herself. Instead she grabbed Sansa’s arm, forcing her to walk with her towards the training yard. Sansa didn’t protest, she was too astonished by the girl’s lack of manners. Sansa’s new companion seemed very friendly, though. “You are even more beautiful up close, than from afar, Lady Sansa!” she smiled at her. 

Sansa felt uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to be rude. The girl was truly gorgeous. She was probably a little older than Sansa, she had long auburn hair and big blue eyes. She walked with so much confidence, Sansa wished she could be like that one day, too. 

“And you have such beautiful hair, Lady Sansa!” the redhead smiled at her.

“I think we have very similar hair,” Sansa noted quietly. They did, suspiciously so. The girl was wearing one of Sansa’s usual hairstyles. And… her clothing was extremely similar to Sansa’s favourite dress, too, except that the girl was showing considerably more skin. She certainly wasn’t a highborn, and yet she was wearing very luxurious clothing. Probably a daughter of some wealthy merchant. Ah, how Sansa envied those women! They had comfortable lives, and yet they didn’t face the same restrictions and duties as highborns.

“Indeed we do,” the girl replied. Her smile was too wide, she was showing her teeth. Ladies never smiled like this, it was distracting. “I have to say, your arrival to King’s Landing has truly changed my life. You’ve made me a rich woman, Lady Sansa.”

“I have?” Sansa blinked. How had she achieved that? She wouldn’t mind having some money of her own, either.

Finally, when the two of them were already too close to the sparring men, the girl stopped in her tracks. “Oh, yes!” she unexpectedly raised her voice. Clegane visibly jerked and turned around, finally noticing them. His eyes widened as soon as he saw Sansa’s companion. He knew her, didn't he?

“Thankfully, there are still some men who don’t hate me for not actually being you,” the girl giggled and kissed Sansa on the cheek. She’d kissed her! And she still hadn’t introduced herself, it was unseemly. The girl then winked at Clegane and headed towards the gate, leaving Sansa in the training yard.

This was all so confusing. Why had the girl winked at Clegane? Nobody did that, everybody was scared of the Hound, how come the girl wasn’t? She should have been terrified! What if… what if she was Clegane’s sweetheart? What if she was the reason why he’d refused to take any wows? What if he loved her?

Perhaps the redhead wasn’t really as gorgeous as Sansa had originally thought. Sansa suddenly realized that she didn’t like the girl very much. Not at all. She was very… very… well, she wasn’t the right woman for Clegane. Clegane needed someone who would understand him. Someone who would comfort him, make him smile, bring lemon cakes into his life. This confident redhead was undoubtedly very desirable for men, everybody was lustfully watching her now. But she wasn’t right for Clegane. Should Sansa explain it to the Hound? It didn’t seem very appropriate, but perhaps she could save him some pain.

Clegane was still staring at her, frozen in spot. But then both Boros Blount and Meryn Trant charged against him and almost scratched Clegane’s skin. The Hound snarled and knocked Ser Boros to the ground, turning his attention to Ser Meryn. The Hound was so fast, Sansa didn’t know how he could move so quickly, holding his giant sword as if it weighed nothing. Clegane would never look like a high born, his body resembled a beast and he didn’t even try to fight graciously. But he had reflexes of a direwolf, he seemed to always predict each blow before his opponent even made the decision. He was moving as fast as a direwolf, too. But when attacking, he was using brute force, breaking anything that stood in his way and producing horrible, animalistic sounds in the process. Why was he so loud? His grandfather might have been a kennel master, but Clegane’s father was a lord. He should have been fighting quietly, with aristocratic poise. Would Clegane be so loud when making love to his lady wife, too? Seven have mercy, what a terrifying idea. And he was so strong he’d just rip the woman’s stays apart. And then he’d growl. He always growled, he was always angry.

But when Clegane defeated both knights and met Sansa's gaze again, for once, there wasn’t much anger in his eyes. This time, there was fear.


	3. Chapter 3

Sansa was anxiously awaiting the evening. She wasn’t sure what she’d tell Clegane, but she knew she couldn’t stay silent. She had to explain to him that he should choose his life companion better. If he were to help Sansa escape, he’d get a castle in the North for sure. And then what? He’d go back to King’s Landing to marry a merchant’s daughter? No, no, no, it didn’t make sense, he’d want to marry a good northern girl, who’d help him understand the north. They’d establish a new northern house and everything would be much easier. Sansa was sure that Robb would find Clegane a good bride to reward him for his service. The man shouldn’t make any hasty decisions. How long did Clegane know the redhead anyway? Did she know how he got her scars? Surely not, Sansa was the only one who knew.

Sansa got a chance to talk to Clegane sooner than she’d anticipated. She’d barely just got changed into the evening gown for the dinner, when he appeared at her door. Sansa dismissed her maid and let the Hound in. She was all alone in her chamber with Sandor Clegane, it was quite scary.

“Can I help you, my lord?” Sansa started politely.

“I just thought that you would perhaps like to know that…” Clegane cleared his throat. “I’ve bought everything Stranger could need for a winter.”

“Oh,” Sansa smiled. “I’m very happy to hear that. If you were ever to spend nights in a forest, I’m sure warm rugs can be useful even in the south.

“Forests?” Clegane raised his brows. “I don’t mean to spend nights in wilderness any time soon.”

Sansa looked up in surprise. “You don’t?”

“No, if I… if I was to travel north, for example, I’d use a ship. It’s much faster, safer and comfortable for anybody who would accompany me.”

“A ship?” Sansa hadn’t thought of that, she thought they’d travel through wilderness during the day and snuggle together at night, otherwise they’d freeze. Ship was better, of course, much better. It would be better for her reputation, too. But still, it was a little disappointing. All the ladies in stories travelled through dark forests, when escaping great monsters.

“Do you have something against ships?” Clegane frowned. He looked very tense.

“No, no, it’s better,” Sansa quickly smiled. “I’ve never been on a ship!”

“Would you like to try it?”

“I would. Very much so.”

“Well,” Clegane looked rather relieved. He even smiled. “There are ships going to White Harbour quite often,” he spoke almost softly to her. “I fought along one of the captains in the Greyjoy rebellion, we’ve been through a lot together. Every time he comes to King’s Landing we have a few drinks together. People are used to seeing me on his ship. He is on his way to King’s Landing right now. Perhaps, once he arrives, I could show you around his ship, too?”

“That would be lovely,” Sansa dared to step closer to him, touching his hand. “I truly appreciate this, ser, I know how difficult it must be for your personal life.”

“Personal life?” the Hound’s mouth twitched and he snatched his hand away. “What in the seven hells do you think you know about it?” he barked out. “You got that from that whore, didn’t you?”

Sansa was perplexed by the sudden change of his mood. “I didn’t… I…”

Clegane wasn’t listening. “I knew the whore would talk to you, but I won’t let anyone blackmail me. I’m telling you, it’s all a load of shite,” he was talking fast, as if he’d been waiting to free himself of those words. “I was drunk, I didn’t know what I was saying.”

“I see,” Sansa didn’t dare to disagree, no matter how confused she was.

“She thinks that just because everyone in this bloody castle is fucking her, I have to want her, too. But not every man wants every whore. She’s delusional if she thinks there’s something more behind it. Don’t you understand what this is all about?”

What did he want Sansa to say? “Yes?” she tried.

He was still irritated. “She wants money, that’s it. A lot of it. She really believes I’ll pay her a way out of this hellhole,” he snorted. “Why do you think she made such a show of talking to you? But she’s wrong, I don’t give a rat’s arse what she’s told you already and what more she’s keeping for the next time. She won’t get anything from me.”

Sansa’s heart skipped a beat. He didn’t want to marry the girl, right? She’d understood it correctly. “So you… you do not hold tender feelings…?” she wanted to be sure.

“What?” he sneered. “I thought that you’d have more sense than to believe her. I was bloody drunk, I didn’t know I was talking about you, I could have talked about anyone. Tender feelings, my arse. I’m the Hound, remember? If she said anything… tender feelings… seven hells,” he huffed in annoyance. “You really fell for such lies?”

The conversation was making Clegane very angry. “No, I… didn’t?” Sansa hoped it was the appropriate answer.

“Ah,” Clegane scowled even more. “You don’t believe her?”

“No?”

“Well… good,” he snarled. “Of course,” he muttered darkly. “The pretty bird would never imagine herself with an ugly dog. Better to dismiss the idea altogether,” his mouth twitched.

Sansa quietly observed his angry expression. She didn’t understand anything, hopefully she’d meet that redhead again. Clegane wasn’t going to marry the girl and Sansa realized that the beauty might not have been so bad after all. Sansa even had a few questions for her. Meanwhile, she wanted Clegane to know how much she appreciated the risks he was willing to take for her. She didn’t view him as a dog, he was her friend. She wanted him to see that. She hesitantly reached out and gently laid her hand on his scarred cheek. Clegane’s eyes widened, but he didn’t push her away, he didn’t bark at her hatefully. 

“What game are you playing, girl?” his voice came out hoarse.

“It’s no game,” Sansa whispered.

His face was slowly getting closer to hers, so she, too, lifted herself onto her toes to be closer. Sansa didn’t shut her eyes like the last time when she’d expected him to kiss her. Instead she gently stroked Clegane’s cheek, trying to calm him down just like she used to do with hurt dogs in Winterfell.

The Hound shivered, his eyes glittering. Their faces were inches apart, their breath mingling. Sansa smiled encouragingly. And then he touched his lips to hers. It was a kiss, a real kiss. And it was perfect. It was nothing like a kiss of Joffrey’s wormy lips. After a moment of uncertainty, Clegane’s lips got harsh, and demanding, he held her tight to his body. Sansa was appropriately appalled, but the act itself was better than the sweetest declaration. Countless songs could be sung about such kiss and it still wouldn’t do it justice. Sansa decided that this was her first true kiss, Joffrey couldn’t possibly count.

Sansa was completely imprisoned in Clegane’s arms and it was just as scary as she’d imagined. Even more. All Sansa could do was to kiss him back, she didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t her fault. Clegane was kissing her whole face, making odd sounds as if he was tasting the most delicious cake.

“Sandor,” she moaned, too.

He pulled away, quietly observing her. Sansa was a good girl, she’d never suffered from any carnal desires. But Clegane didn’t care, he was looking at her with hungry eyes of a starving dog. He probably thought many indecent things about her every night.

“What are you doing, girl?” he hissed then. “Nobody calls me by my name, it’s what lovers do.”

“But… you kissed me.”

“So what? Do you want me to fuck you, too?”

Sansa bit her lip. “No?”

“Then don’t say my bloody name as if you wanted to be my lady love!” he snarled, mere inches away from her face. “If you say a man’s name like that, girl, he’ll fuck you bloody, don’t you understand that?”

“But Sandor…”

“Don’t! Don’t say my name. If you ever do that again, I really will claim you right then and there. Do you want that?”

He was so very close to her, it was terrifying. 

“I’m not a buggering knight out of your songs, girl,” Clegane continued. “If I get one taste of you, you’ll be mine, mine!” he growled menacingly. “I know northern laws, little bird, if I steal you away, cherish you as my wife and put my child in you, it’s as good as a wedding. Even better, because your brother will have no way of annulling it.”

Sansa bit her lip. Had he thought of their child? Had he imagined a handsome boy with red hair and expressive grey yes? Eddard Clegane would be as strong as Sandor and as well-mannered as Sansa, he’d be the most perfect knight.

“That’s what happens if you say my name like that, little bird,” the Hound continued to threaten her mercilessly. “I’ll make you mine. I’ll fuck you every day and kill anyone who’ll as much as think of hurting you.”

He was so scary. This was it. Clegane would soon start tearing off her clothes and then he’d take her as his wife, claim her like a savage. And she’d have to submit to him, of course, she had no choice. He was so strong, so ruthless, she could never push him away. Sansa shivered in fear. She could already feel the pain in her womb, even the uncomfortable wetness between her legs was worse than ever. Oh dear, he’d touch her there soon, any moment now.

He kissed her again, even more forcefully this time. He fisted his hand in her hair and did some very scandalous things with his tongue. His other hand meanwhile cupped her bottom. Sansa knew she was helpless against him, but she was a good girl, she had to prove she didn’t want this at all, it wasn’t her fault. When she pushed against him, Clegane didn’t even notice. 

“No!” her protest came out more as a moan. She knew the Hound wouldn’t care, he’d ravish her, no matter how much she resisted. He’d take whatever he wanted.

But Clegane froze and pulled away from her, looking hard into her eyes. “The little bird finally came to senses, is that it?” he sniggered.

Sansa blinked in surprise. Why did he do that? Why had he stopped kissing her? Had he changed his mind? Didn’t he want to make her his wife? Didn’t he like her kisses?

“Forgive me, Sandor, I do not know…”

He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “Stop talking to me as if I was your bloody lover! You can’t talk like that to a man, unless you want to get fucked hard. What don’t you understand about that, girl?

He was so close, so scary. Sansa was completely mortified by the situation. “Sandor, please…” she whispered, not really knowing what she wanted to say.

“Don’t!” he snarled. “Don’t talk to me like that, don’t call me Sandor. One more time, girl, one more time, and I swear, I’ll spread your legs and fill that little cunt of yours with my cock. I’ll make you mine forever!”

Sansa was trembling. “Sandor…” 

He stared at her, speechless for a moment. “What are you doing, girl?” he repeated once again, his fingers painfully digging into her flesh. “What do you want?”

But before he could act upon his worst impulses, the knock on door interrupted him. “Lady Sansa?” Ser Boros opened the door without asking. It wasn’t unusual. He always tried to catch Sansa while dressing up, she’d noticed it already. “I’m here to take you to dine with the king,” he announced, scowling at Sandor.

“Ser Sandor is already taking me,” Sansa replied quietly.

“But I was told…” Boros started.

“You were told wrong,” Sandor snarled. “Now bugger off, we’re going,” he grabbed Sansa’s arm, leading her to the door. 

The three of them walked to the dinner together, so Sansa didn’t get a chance to talk to Sandor at all. But perhaps it was for the better. All that drinking of the previous night had an even worse effect on her than she’d initially realized. Even today she’d reacted very poorly to Clegane’s inappropriate behaviour, she needed some time to focus and pray to become better. 

Before they entered Joffrey’s chambers, Sandor leaned closer. “Don’t forget to faint if he tries to get you drunk, girl.”

Sansa nodded. Clegane had such a distinctive, raspy voice, hearing him always gave her goosebumps.

Clegane was right to be afraid, Sansa hadn’t even finished her first meal when Joffrey decided it was the time to force her to drink more wine. Sansa didn’t want to see wine for a long time, her morning headache was still fresh in her memory. Why couldn’t Joffrey leave her alone for a moment? 

“How are you feeling, my dearest?” Joffrey asked.

“I’m very happy to be dining with you, Your Grace,” Sansa replied quietly. The wine didn’t sit well with her today, she was already feeling unwell.

“More wine!”

There was so much food in front of Sansa and another full glass. She couldn’t drink it, she couldn’t. And she couldn’t refuse it, either! Sansa looked at Sandor, who was scowling furiously. Could she truly pretend to faint? She’d never tried it before.

“I feel so…” Sansa swallowed nervously. “I feel so weak!”

“Shocking,” Cersei muttered.

Sansa bit her lip. Alright, now was the time to faint. Time to faint. She could do it, she could. Clegane had faith in her, she could do it. “Ahh!” she uttered and elegantly let her head fall on the table. Had it been convincing enough? Sansa hid her face behind her puffy sleeve, hoping that nobody would see how much she was blushing. She was sure that one glance at her face would ruin the illusion.

"Is she dead?" Joffrey wondered.

“Seven have mercy, the girl fainted,” Cersei noted in a bored tone. “Two glasses and she’s acting as if she’d been poisoned.”

“The girl drank too much yesterday already,” Sansa could hear Sandor speak up. “Her body can’t handle the second day of it, it’s normal for young girls.”

“It never happened to me,” Cersei contradicted him.

“She fainted?” Joffrey sounded excited. “Is she very ill, then?”

“Of course she is,” Cersei assured him. “I told you that redheads can’t take anything, in two years she’ll look like an old crone already,” the smile was obvious even in Cersei’s voice. “Clegane, take her away. You’ll stand guard in front of her door tonight, bring Pycelle to if you need to.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Sandor’s deep voice was much closer to Sansa now.

And then Sansa could feel large arms wrap around her and Sandor lifted her up again, gently holding her against his massive body. She’d done it. She was safe.

Only when they were far enough from Joffrey’s chambers, Clegane brought his mouth down to Sansa’s ear. “You’re safe now, little bird,” he whispered again. “Just don’t speak, don’t move. You’ve done well, but we can’t ruin it now.”

Sansa didn’t need to move, she was quite comfortable in the man’s arms. Sandor truly did know how to carry a lady, Sansa had been carried by men several times in her life and it had never felt so good. It unfortunately ended too soon and Sansa was back to her room, not even an hour after she’d left it. 

He carefully laid her down onto the bed and Sansa finally opened her eyes. Clegane lit up a few candles as Sansa quietly observed him. They’d shared their first kiss in this room, he’d nearly made her his wife. Why had he stopped kissing her? “My lord, perhaps we should talk about…” Sansa began shyly.

He brought his finger to her lips to silence her. “Get some sleep, little bird,” he murmured. “Joffrey is only starting to have fun, you need as much rest as you can get.” He wistfully looked at her for a moment, then shook his head and left the room without even addressing the kisses they’d shared. In the door he nearly bumped into Sansa’s maid, and growled at her that she should have already been there, ready to take care of Sansa.

“M’lady, are you alright?” the woman asked, when she saw Sansa laying in her bed.

“Yes, thank you, Mathilda, I’m fine,” Sansa smiled at her. It was a polite smile, not a happy one. She’d wanted to talk to Sandor. She wasn’t sure what she’d say, but she knew she had to say something. Sansa stood up and let Mathilda undress her. When the maid made a bath for her, Sansa smiled at her once more, even more sadly than before. “That will be all for today, Mathilda, thank you. I wish you a good night.”

“Good night, m’lady,” she replied in relief. The maid looked tired, she herself was probably happy she didn’t have to wait for Sansa any longer.

Sansa lowered herself into the bath, enjoying the warmth spreading through her body. It felt nice, relaxing. It wasn’t as good as the warmth that enveloped her whenever Sandor touched her, but it was close enough. Today she’d seen him without his tunic and she could have seen more, if he hadn’t stopped kissing her. What did Clegane look like without his breeches? She knew at least that he had huge feet and he probably had very muscled legs. And as for the rest… Sansa blushed. Well, she’d once heard two women talking about Meryn Trant, claiming that his manhood was just as big as a thumb. Sansa deduced that it probably worked like that with all the men. Clegane had much bigger hands than anyone Sansa knew, which obviously meant some horrifying things about the rest of his physique. Sansa stared at her own thumb for a moment. How would it feel? 

In a brief moment of insanity Sansa reached between her legs, touching herself there with her fingers. It was so scary! Sansa giggled and touched herself again. She found a very sensitive spot there, which made her feel all sorts of awful things, but it was also quite thrilling. Sansa continued in her explorations. This is what Sandor had nearly done to her today. The Seven had been very merciful, sparring her of such horror. It would have been unbearable.

“Sandor,” a loud moan escaped her. Seven have mercy! What had happened? This was embarrassing, shocking. Sansa quickly snatched her hand away, returning to reality. No, Sansa wouldn’t think about improper things. She never did that. She hadn’t drunk as much wine as the day before, she could control herself. This was all just the wine, those weren’t her thoughts at all. She was a good girl, surely the gods knew that about her.

But the door suddenly opened and Sandor stood there, his eyes wild and terrifying. Why was he there? Why now? He was wearing the armour of the Kingsguard and Sansa was naked, she was completely naked in her bathtub! There was nothing covering her nudity, nothing. And it didn’t go unnoticed. Clegane’s hungry eyes roamed over her entire body. He swallowed.

“I’ve warned you, girl,” he rasped. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been medicated a lot lately, so I hope this chapter makes any sense at all. I just want to post it already. Sorry that I'm slower at responding to your comments. They make me very happy, I'm just mostly living in a brain fog right now.  
Also, I didn’t put warnings for this story, because I don’t think the consent in this story is dubious at all. But perhaps some people might have a different opinion, so if you are sensitive towards these things, consider yourself warned for all the following chapters.

Clegane didn’t go away, instead he started taking off his armour, his eyes locked on hers. Sansa was frozen, unable to move. She was completely exposed to him, completely helpless against the monster.

“Have you touched yourself, little bird?” he asked.

“No, I have not!” she replied, scandalized. She was sure he didn’t mean just the touches required to wash herself, oh, no, he had something much worse in mind. 

“Such a bad liar,” the Hound smirked. “I’ve heard you, girl. How have you touched yourself? Show me.”

Sansa’s eyes widened and she finally pressed her legs to her chest, so that he wouldn’t see anything. Sandor was such a brute, he had no sense of propriety. And he was surprisingly fast at removing his armour. Too fast. It was happening, wasn’t it? He’d claim her, he’d steal her maidenhead from her.

“Well?” he knelt down next to the bathtub. He looked even more intimidating now. When he was in full armour, she could pretend that it was the steel making him so huge. But now it was obvious that he really did have a body of a beast. Sandor cupped her cheek, gently stroking it with his thumb. “What did you think about, little bird? Our kisses?”

Sansa looked away. She was a lady, she wouldn’t dignify such question with an answer.

“Do you know what I always imagine?” Clegane continued to caress her face. “I think about you, about the perfect little lady getting fucked by the Hound and loving it. I think about your eyes, looking at me as I claim you as my wife. I think about your teats in my hands, your cunt around my cock. Even my name on your lips.”

How could he even say such things? There was no end to Clegane’s awfulness, Sansa trembled just when hearing it.

“And today I’ll make it all come true,” Clegane growled threateningly and stood up, lifting her out of the bathtub. 

Sansa yelped, but it didn’t stop the giant. He carried her away in just one arm, while he used the other to spread his white cloak over Sansa’s bed. He then gently laid her down. She hadn’t even had an opportunity to dry up, she was cold! And her nipples were hard, he could see that, it was embarrassing.

“I’ve warned you, girl,” Sandor crawled atop of her. “I told you that you shouldn’t speak to me as if I was your lover. But you didn’t listen to me, did you?”

Sansa stared into his eyes, too frightened to respond. 

“Do you know what it means?” he asked.

She couldn’t know, good maidens weren’t supposed to know anything. They were supposed to come to marriage bed believing that a child was made with a kiss. Had Sansa failed at being a good maiden? It wasn’t her fault that she had heard women talk about male bodies and bedding itself, she’d never paid attention to these things anyway. But she could never admit how very knowledgeable she was, what would Sandor think of her?

“Well?” Sandor still wanted an answer.

“You will… kiss me?” Sansa suggested shyly.

Clegane grinned and bent down to kiss her lips, taking a while to nibble at them, to caress her tongue with his own.

“I’ll fuck you, girl,” he corrected then and his hand snaked between her legs. “I’ll fuck you hard. If you want to treat me like your lover, then that’s what I’ll do, too.”

Sansa demurely lowered her lashes and blushed with all her body.

“Look at me!” Sandor growled and Sansa quickly obeyed. “Don’t you have something to say? Don’t you want to push me away?” he demanded. “I really will fuck you bloody, girl. I’ll make you heavy with my child,” he threatened. “I’ll shag you every day, I’ll lick your teats, your cunt, even your little arse. I’ll make you suck my cock, girl, don’t you understand?”

Sansa swallowed, but she remained silent, so he shook her again. “Seven hells, say something!”

“I understand, Sandor,” she replied fearfully.

Sandor stared at her, completely dumbfounded. “You do?” he breathed out.

Sansa nodded. She truly had no other choice with him looming above her. Sandor stayed frozen for a moment, then bent down, kissing her along the jawline. He raised himself above her, observing her for a moment. Sansa blushed under his intense gaze. He groaned then and claimed her mouth in a brutal kiss. He started moving his fingers between her legs, too. He was touching her there, exploring! Sansa hadn’t been ready for that, it was shameful. 

Sandor kisses weren’t too bad, though. His mouth was very firm and demanding, but Sansa could tolerate it at least. It wasn’t her fault, when a few moans escaped her lips, he’d forced it out of her. He even kissed her breasts. No, he sucked on them! It was shockingly obscene, as were the sounds he produced in the process. Sansa didn’t know what to do. She hadn’t been married in a sept, or in a godswood, if Clegane wanted to enact the right of a wildling warrior, a good lady couldn’t just accept it. But how could Sansa show her disapproval? She couldn’t very well fight him, that wasn’t ladylike at all! Besides, what if he’d stop with his attentions altogether?

Sandor was very cruel, Sansa expected him to rip through her maidenhead any time soon. It would hurt so much, perhaps she’d faint for real. Good maidens sometimes fainted from the unbearable pain. Sansa had many times overheard Jon Umber’s wife boast about her maiden suffering. But Clegane didn’t make any move to violate Sansa yet. He spent a long time kissing her entire body, licking her, nibbling at her soft skin. Why did he do that? Sansa stirred restlessly. Why was he so gentle with her? Men in love were impatient, ruthless. Why wasn’t he like that? He wanted a wildling wedding, which was the most terrifying thing, but it meant that he was supposed to claim her like a savage. So why didn’t he? Why was he wasting time kissing her knees?

“I always knew you had perfect legs,” Sandor groaned. “So bloody beautiful,” he whispered as he pressed kisses up her thighs. It felt… interesting. And his mouth got higher and higher, until it got where it was never supposed to be.

Sansa let out a few maiden protests, but of course, Sandor didn’t care. He spread her legs apart and growled appreciatively again. To Sansa’s horror he lowered his head, kissing her between her legs. No, it was not kissing, it was worse than that. And it was utterly humiliating. Sandor hadn’t taken Sansa’s maidenhead yet and she was already in pain. It felt as if her womb had been twisted, her insides were quivering, and she could hardly breathe. But then something even worse happened and Clegane pushed his finger into her. Sansa whined, trying to make him understand he shouldn’t do that. It was wrong, it was more than improper. And it hurt!

“Seven hells, how is it even possible to be so tight,” Sandor gasped, looking as if he was in pain. And yet it was him who was hurting her!

Sansa frowned. There was nothing wrong with her body, he should look at his hands first. “It’s your fingers that are too big!” she protested.

“My fingers?” he chuckled, withdrew his finger and kissed her woman’s place again. “Well…” 

He stood up and Sansa suddenly felt cold without his warm body pressed to hers. What was happening? Wouldn’t he claim her? Sansa was about to panic, when she realized what he was doing. Sandor took his shirt off and Sansa could see all his muscles, all the monstrous strength that would keep her safe for the rest of her life. The strength he’d soon use to claim her. She shivered. Sandor undid his breeches, his eyes never leaving hers. And then something enormous fell into his hand. Something as hard as steel, something… Sansa bit her lip. That couldn’t be! This was no thumb, this was the scariest thing in the world. And Sandor wasn’t one bit ashamed of what he had between his legs.

As he was getting rid of his breeches, Sansa decided to use the opportunity to prove how virtuous she was. She jumped out of the bed and ran to the door, trying to escape her fate as every good maiden should.

Just as she expected, Sandor immediately stopped her, grabbing her arm. “Do you want me to leave, girl?” he snarled, his imposing figure looming above her. Sansa trembled, feeling the wetness pool between her legs again. The situation couldn’t be any scarier. It was exactly like Sansa’s favourite tale of a maiden caught by a monster in a dark forest. Would he violate her on the floor?

“Say something!” the Hound demanded.

“Sandor, I don’t know what… what I’m supposed to do!”

“All that matters is what you want,” he scowled. “Do you want me to leave, or stay?”

Sansa tried to escape his grasp once more, but he held her even tighter. “Sandor!” she complained.

“This again?” he growled. “I’ve told you something about talking to me like that.”

“But Sandor…” she pouted.

His mouth twitched. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, girl, but you’re getting fucked tonight,” he lifted her up and tossed her on the bed, covering her. He spread her legs apart and took place between them. “No more games,” he rasped and looked hard into her eyes. “You’re mine, do you understand?” with that he thrust into her, even more brutally than she’d expected. His horrible manhood cut into her like a sword and Sansa cried out in pain, feeling as if she’d been split apart. She had proven her great purity, but by the Seven, it hurt. 

“Sansa…” Sandor grunted. “Now, will you be a good girl?” 

“I always am!” 

“Then hold onto me, little bird,” he caressed her cheek and gently kissed her. “Move with me, it will be easier.”

Sansa did just as he commanded. She’d always been complimented on her obedience, she wanted to prove to her new husband how perfectly docile she could be. She hugged Sandor tight to her body and timidly tried to mimic his movements. They were slow at first, cautious. Sandor was trembling as if he was exerting himself. He was so huge, it seemed impossible for them to fit together. Well, perhaps it was indeed impossible, since it hurt so much. Sandor kept thrusting into her anyway, each move renewing the pain inside her. Why didn’t he stay still for their coupling? It would be considerably less painful. As it was, Sansa could feel his monstrous muscles tighten and move under his skin. He was so incredibly strong. Her fingers traced the corded lines of his back, his huge bicep. What a beast he was! And he was claiming her as his wife, he was her own beast now. Just when Sansa wanted to wrap herself around him to be even more, Sandor shifted to look down to where they were locked together.

“Such a pretty little cunt,” he seemed mesmerized by the sight, but it didn’t make him any gentler. Instead he drove into Sansa with more force than before, until their bodies collided. “Mine,” he groaned. “All mine.” His entire manhood was inside her, Sansa couldn’t believe it. She moaned at the impact, confused by her own body.

She truly was in a lot of pain and the Hound’s movements were only getting faster. He buried his fingers in her hair and kissed her in a harsh, possessive kiss. 

“Sansa, you’re mine,” he kept repeating, his breathing erratic.

“Sandor,” she smiled at him through her tears.

His face twisted when he heard his own name and Sandor trembled, thrusting into her with desperate frenzy. But then he arched his back and groaned loudly, trembling. What had just happened?

“Little bird,” he let out breathlessly. 

When he pulled out of her and collapsed on the bed next to Sansa, she felt horribly empty. And there was some unpleasant stickiness between her legs, but she didn’t dare to get out of the bed to clean herself. Sansa had never seen Sandor being tired, not even at the tourney, and yet now he looked as if he’d just been through the hardest battle. Sweat was covering his entire body, and his muscled chest was heaving. But he didn’t stop touching Sansa, he held her to his body. And he was tender, kissing her with odd gentleness. “You’re mine, little bird, you’re my wife. Do you understand?”

Sansa nodded, too shy to look him in the eyes after what had just happened.

Sandor nuzzled his face into her hair and kissed her behind her ear. “You won’t regret this, little bird,” he promised hoarsely. “You’ll have everything, everything you want. I’ll do anything to make you safe and happy.”

Sansa smiled against his skin. She felt sore, but Sandor smelled so nice, and he really gave the best hugs. It was just like being protected by a direwolf, or a bear. “I know, Sandor,” she whispered.

They lay there for a long time and it was perfect. Sansa was still in King’s Landing and yet she felt as if she was at home, safe and loved. And there was so much of Sandor’s body in her bed, no matter how much she moved, he was always there, enveloping her. Perfect.

“I’ll keep you safe, little bird,” Sandor kept murmuring. “You aren’t unhappy, are you?

“No, Sandor, I’ll be a dutiful wife to you.”

“I’d rather have a happy wife,” he rasped.

Sansa smiled happily and pressed herself a bit more against Sandor’s strong body.

Sandor seemed to accept that as a response and he planted a kiss into her hair. “Joffrey won’t touch you again, I swear.”

“That will be hard to do, since I’m still betrothed to him,” Sansa pointed out.

Sandor tensed up. “No, you’re not!” he suddenly growled in a much different tone. “You’re not betrothed to anyone, girl, you’re married. Married to me. You’re mine. Mine,” his embrace tightened. “There will be no more kisses with that cunt. If anybody touches you inappropriately, I’ll kill them, no matter who they are.” It wasn’t really a threat, just a mere statement of fact. 

Sansa didn’t know what to say. Her relationship with Sandor had to stay a secret and she could never predict what Joffrey would do. He could kiss her, he could hit her, he could do anything. She wasn’t sure how this was going to work. Sandor wasn’t concerned, though, he had one particular solution for everything.

“And if anybody tries to hurt you. I’ll kill them, too,” he added. “I’ll quarter them and kill every single piece of them again. You’ll tell me when somebody tries something, little bird, won’t you?”

Sansa sighed. This was definitely not going to be easy.

But Sandor wasn’t satisfied with her silence. “Will you tell me?”

“I will, Sandor.”

“Good. I’ll keep you safe. We’re going to defeat the Lannisters, so that they never pose a threat to our family again, don’t worry. And I’ll give you a safe home, little bird, wherever you want. Whatever you want. I can build you a new castle altogether, I have the money,” Sandor sounded rather boastful. Sansa smiled. He’d been proud to win the Tourney of the Hand after all, hadn’t he? He’d looked very annoyed back then, but Sansa had been so impressed by him, so elated when he’d won. She had hoped that the victory would make his life better. And there he was, finally planning to use his award for something else than wine.

“But you’ve served the Lannisters all your life, won’t you mind leaving them?”

“I’ve always wanted to serve my lady wife first and foremost,” Sandor blurted out.

Sansa blinked. “You thought of getting married before?” she finally met his gaze. She didn’t quite like the idea of Sandor courting another woman. Had she been pretty? Did he still think of her? 

“No, I…” Sandor hesitated. “Just when I was a child, I had some stupid ideas,” he shrugged.

Sansa smiled, relieved. She knew that her husband had had dreams like her before his brother ruined his childhood. She kissed Sandor’s chest now, trying to assure him that he was safe with her, he could talk about anything. Sandor shivered slightly and embraced her further.

“It’s not stupid,” she whispered. “I’ve always dreamt of making home with my husband.”

Sandor snorted. “You dreamt of getting shagged by the Hound, too?”

Sansa bit the arm that was embracing her. They were married and he called himself the Hound, it was appropriate. “I dreamt of having a strong husband, who’d keep me safe,” she retorted.

Sandor smiled and this time, it wasn’t a sneer, or an ironic smirk, it was a warm, genuine smile full of hope. Full of love. He tenderly cupped her face. “You’ll be the safest little bird in Westeros,” he promised. “My little bird.”

Sansa graciously let him kiss her again. 

“The most important thing is that we love each other,” Sandor murmured adoringly. “When I have that, I can deal with anything. Nobody will threaten my wife.”

It was an odd idea. Could Sansa love the Hound? This wasn’t what she wanted, of course, but Sandor had claimed her anyway and it was a duty of a wife to love her husband. No matter how the relationship started. And Sansa was the most dutiful lady in Westeros.

Luckily, Sandor didn’t expect a response. “We’ll wait for the ship and then I’ll take you north,” he started planning. “When do you think your brother will get married?”

“Soon, I hope,” Sansa had thought about it many times. “Robb and Margeary have been betrothed for four years now. Robb wanted to get married before father left for King’s Landing, but father decided against it. He wanted Robb to get used to taking care of the North first. And now the family is mourning.”

“There’s no time for mourning in the times of war,” Sandor shook his head. “Your brother should secure his alliance to the Tyrells before someone else does it.”

“Someone else? Margeary loves Robb, she wouldn’t marry anyone else!”

“Then they should get onto it. Is it possible that they have married already, we just don’t know it yet?”

“It could be,” Sansa admitted. “Either way, Sandor, it’s our marriage that will not be viewed kindly by my family.”

Sandor shrugged. “I’ll help your brother win, that should shut them up.”

“Sandor!”

“What?”

“I don’t want them to just… be quiet about their displeasure,” she corrected her husband’s language. She had a lot of work to do, when it came to Sandor’s manners. “I want them to appreciate you, see you as a part of the family.”

Sandor observed Sansa’s face for a moment. “Appreciate me?” he chuckled. “You’re an odd little bird, aren’t you?”

“I’m not odd!”

“Of course you are, you’re a tiny little bird married to the Hound. How many little birds can say that?”

Sansa giggled, enjoying the closeness to Sandor’s powerful body. She had the strongest husband, a winner of the Tourney. And Sandor didn’t want her to move even an inch away from him. Sansa tested it once more and noted with satisfaction that he always brought her even closer. He couldn’t be without her, she’d proven herself to be a great wife already. He kept caressing her body, too, and nuzzled his face into her hair and skin, constantly kissing her. In his arms she felt like the single most precious thing in the world. It felt confusingly natural.

“Sandor, puppy, do you think we should write to my family first, before we get to the north?”

Sandor froze a little. “What did you just call me?” he asked, incredulous.

“Well, if I’m your little bird, why can’t you be my little puppy?” Sansa reasoned logically. She wouldn’t get embarrassed about her slip of the tongue. Sandor wasn’t the only one who could come up with names for other people.

But he could easily overpower her. Even now, when he just flipped her over and looked at her with his piercing eyes, it was terrifying. “Yours?” he asked with a wolf-like smirk.

“Aren’t you?” Sansa peeped.

Sandor growled and kissed her, biting her lip. “You have no idea how much I’m yours, little bird.”

He was touching her between her legs again! He really was like a wildling. And he was so huge, even the wrists of his hands were enormous. And his arms, oh, dear, they were so big, so muscled, Sansa couldn’t stop touching them, marvelling at the feel of him. Wildlings were muscled like that in some drawings, too, it was disturbing. But they often had blood of giants in them, that’s why they looked so scary. When Sansa was younger, she’d often had nightmares about some muscled giant taking her away and claiming her in the most savage way. Did Cleganes have any wildling ancestors? It wouldn’t be surprising, Sandor had no sense of propriety. And Sansa’s nightmares had come true, he’d claimed her just like she’d feared. Sansa bit her lip. How cruel he was to her! Even now, after all those tender words they’d exchanged, he didn’t hesitate to torment her again. She whimpered as he caressed her. Perhaps if he’d put a bit more pressure, the sensation would be even stronger? It would be humiliating, of course. But his touch made her feel something odd, something new.

“And I’m yours, Sandor,” Sansa whispered. It was true. Sandor had stolen her maidenhead, she’d be with him forever. They’d share bed every night. He would do many unspeakable things to her, wouldn’t he? Sansa could feel the wetness between her legs again, but it wouldn’t deter Sandor, she knew. 

He took her lips in another bruising kiss. “Yes, you are,” he grunted. “Mine. Mine,” he spread her legs and drove deep inside her. Sansa cried out. What…? How could that be? His manhood had grown soft just mere moments ago! And there it was now, like a steel cutting through her. She was so very sore.

Oddly enough, the pain came almost as a relief. She was Sandor’s wife now, it felt right to be filled by him again. Sandor had somehow taken control of Sansa’s mind, too. She couldn’t stop arching her back, she couldn’t help the moans. There was so much love and desire in his eyes, it was as if the world stopped moving and Sandor could only see her, nothing else mattered to him. Sansa had never felt so important to anyone before, he truly was all hers. And he felt perfect inside her. It was horrible, of course, devastating. But perfect. How ruthless he was in his claiming of her, what a beast he was! But then, then he stopped altogether, staying completely still. Why wasn’t he moving? He was so awful. Did he want to do something even worse to her? 

Sandor narrowed his eyes, observing Sansa for a moment. He testily wrapped his fingers around her throat. Sansa gasped in horror. The Hound was really capable of anything! She moaned in fear, shivering.

“The little bird likes it rough,” a smile tugged at Sandor’s burnt lips. His hand slid down her body again.

“No, I don’t!” she protested, horrified. What was he even insinuating?!

“Oh, no?” he chuckled. He grabbed her hip and slammed his manhood into her with crushing force.

“Sandor!” Sansa keened.

“Hmm?” he braced himself and started claiming her even more savagely than before, biting at her delicate skin. He was like a true monster, driving into her mercilessly, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. He didn’t let her move away from him, he held her firmly in place. Sansa sobbed. She was a lady, her body was too delicate for this, she couldn’t take it. Every inch of her was tense, she couldn’t breathe. But Sandor continued to brutally claim her regardless, his thrusts getting harder and faster. His body was slapping against hers, producing some shocking sounds and making her quiver even more. And he bit her, bit at her throat, at her collarbone. It was horrible.

Sansa’s body might have just as well exploded. All the knots in her body suddenly came loose, she trembled, she cried, she melted into Sandor. He’d done something atrocious to her, possessed her body and mind. It was terrifying, it was heavenly. 

It took Sansa a long while to regain her senses back. Her head was still spinning. What had Sandor done to her? Had he warged into her, had he cast a spell, or what had it been? When Sansa met Sandor’s gaze again, she saw him watching her in awe. He brushed a stray hair off her face. “You were saying?” he whispered teasingly and kissed the tip of her nose.

“Sandor,” was all she could respond.

“Hmm?” he nibbled at her lip.

He was moving again! Why was he moving again? Sansa still hadn’t processed what had just happened. Sansa tried to hold onto him, but he was moving too much. And grunting. Grunting loudly. It didn’t take long before his movements became more urgent. When Sandor let out a pained sound, she could feel something hot inside her, but this time, she truly enjoyed the moment. Her scary, giant husband was trembling in her arms and his eyes weren’t angry at all, they were full of tenderness and adoration. And it was all because of her.

Later, when they both finally rested, Sansa laid her head on Sandor’s chest. It was so very hairy, so comfortable to lay on. Sansa’s husband really was a beast. And how cruel he’d been to her! Sansa shivered at the memory. He’d do this to her every night, he’d said so. Sansa was his wife now, she would have to obey him, she had no choice. But Sansa could be brave, she could bear even those kisses between her legs. If she tried to push Sandor away, he’d probably do something even more unspeakable to her. Like… like what? Something terrible for sure. Perhaps Sansa should indeed push him away. Just a little bit. Ladies had to show just the right amount of disapproval, so that they were docile enough, and yet nobody suspected that they had sinful desires like men and witches. Sansa wondered whether her husband would claim her once more before he’d go. He had promised her to make her heavy with a child after all and so far he’d just taken her maidenhead, he hadn’t given her any of that seed that men were supposed to give to women. He truly would have to take her again, wouldn’t he? Just when Sansa thought about that, the Hound playfully pinched her bottom and when she squeaked in surprise, he chuckled. Just like a wildling. The Hound would fit in the North better than Sansa.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I’m back from yet another little hospital trip. At this point I really should forget about the Middle Ages and start writing sansan stories set in a hospital. Sansa, the crazy patient who has to put on make up and her pretty pyjamas as soon as possible, and Sandor, the angry, protective doctor, who doesn’t want to let her go immediately home. It all ends with lots of puppies, of course. Ground-breaking, I know. Anyway, here’s a little update, unfortunately, I can’t make many promises for the following weeks.

Sansa’s head hurt. Had she drank too much again? Joffrey, Joffrey had made her drink, he was so cowardly. But she hadn’t embarrassed herself, had she? She’d pretended to faint, just like the Hound had advised her. The Hound… Sandor… He’d been there, too, hadn’t he? He’d been… everywhere. Sansa sat up, suddenly wide awake. Sandor! Her. And Sandor! In one bed, her bed. They had been in one bed together, they had… Seven have mercy, he’d claimed her as his wife!

And he wasn’t there now, why wasn’t he there? Sansa had thought she’d wake up with her head on her husband’s strong chest, his hands would caress her body and the couple would welcome the new day with a sweet kiss. Instead she was all alone in her bed, Sandor long gone from her chamber. The only reminder of the previous night was the white cloak covering her bed. It smelled of Sandor. And it was a very nice cloak, too. Sansa wrapped the thing around herself, breathing in the comforting scent.

He’d kissed her goodbye, hadn’t he? Sansa had been still half asleep, when he’d got up from her bed and kissed her tenderly, telling her that he had to go. He’d been just like Florian, Florian promising to Jonquill that he’d see her again at the sundown. Except that Sandor had promised to see her as soon as possible. Why wasn’t it now? How could he even wait like that?

When Sansa moved to get out of the bed, she was startled by the pain between her legs. She blushed. How vigorously her husband had claimed her! There had been so much affection in Sandor’s eyes, so much protectiveness in his gestures. He probably already loved her even more than Durran had loved Elenei. And soon everybody would know. Sansa giggled, imagining everybody’s reaction to such news. She hoped it would be mostly singers from riverlands spreading songs about the Lady and the Hound, westermen wouldn’t do their relationship justice.

Sansa had been perfectly obedient throughout the entire night. She’d shown the right amount of resistance to prove her virtue, but she’d never displeased her husband in any way. Sandor had even said that she was a good wife and Sandor wasn’t someone to throw empty compliments. Septa Mordane had four times scolded Sansa for being wilful during her childhood and to this day it still sometimes haunted Sansa. But tonight, Sansa had proven herself to be quite an excellent wife. She had accepted all the shocking behaviour of her husband without judgement. She hadn’t complained, not once.

And how much her husband desired her! Sansa suppressed an immodest smile. Her husband hadn’t been able to keep his hands away from her the entire night. He’d even kissed the bad parts, like her knees. And worse. Even when she’d turned away from him to sleep, he’d immediately pressed his body to hers. They’d probably slept like that the whole night, his face buried in her hair, her back pressed to his chest, her bottom pressed to… some other parts. And his hand had been cupping her breast! Sansa had been shocked by such sleeping arrangement, of course, but she’d also felt very safe and protected. She wouldn’t be opposed to sleeping like that more often.

When Sandor had woken her up, he’d been very tender and sweet. Nobody else had ever seen the Hound being sweet, it was reserved only for her. Sansa remembered the moment, giggling. Sansa started carefully folding the cloak. She truly loved the scent, why hadn’t she realized before how nice Sandor smelled? Men never smelled nice, only Sandor did. He didn’t bath in perfumes like Joffrey, nor did he reek of old sweat, wine and… bodily fluids like Ser Boros and other men in armour. Sandor just smelled of strength and security. Sansa blushed. 

She had lately started to notice how clean Sandor was. Whenever men sparred in the training yard, he was the only one who afterwards thoroughly washed himself. Not that Sansa had paid much attention to it. Whenever she’d thought she might get a glimpse of his body, he had his back to her, splashing water all over himself. She’d never seen anything besides his muscled back. Until yesterday.

Sandor probably paid special attention to his cleanliness because of the scars, didn’t he? That was so unexpected, so wonderful. Sansa and Sandor could now be the cleanliest couple in Westeros, how thrilling! They’d have the cleanest castle. Sandor didn’t hunt, so there’d be no stinking dead animals, no antlers, there’d be just beautiful tapestries and flowers everywhere. Sansa and Sandor would wear colourful, matching clothes and the Cleganes would be an inspiration to the whole world.

Sandor’s scars spread down his neck to the top of his chest. He’d probably tried to fight off Gregor, getting burnt on more and more places. It was obvious, though, that where the scars met the tunic, they looked very irritated. He needed to keep them clean, that was very wise of him. But he should have worn a shirt from a much softer fabric, something that wouldn’t scratch the sensitive skin. It was good that he had a wife now. Nobody understood these things better than Sansa. That was at least what Septa Mordane had said, Sansa herself would never flatter herself like that. Sansa would make her husband the softest shirts and tunics. She would be the one taking care of his scars from now on.

Sansa hid the cloak in a wooden chest and prepared a bath for herself. She did it all on her own, without maids, for the first time in her life. And she got it just right! She was very sore and she found several bruises, but other than that she felt surprisingly calm and content. She was no silly maiden anymore, she was a mature woman now and it showed. She had very bravely endured something as horrible as a wildling wedding. And now that she realized her own resilience, she didn’t worry anymore. Sansa wasn’t alone, she was about to start building her own pack. And Sandor was so strong, so loyal. It was a terrifying thought of course that such a monster would want to bed her every night from now on, but Sansa could be brave. It was so comforting to have someone on her side, someone for whom her safety and happiness were a priority. She’d almost forgot what it felt like to be loved. And now it was even better, because Sandor had chosen her. She wasn’t born into his family, he hadn’t cared for her out of some duty. His affection brought him more trouble, than benefit, he wasn’t trying to use her. He simply loved her. For her. She was so lovable she attracted even the man least likely to fall in love with anyone.

She was first disappointed, when it was Ser Meryn, not Sandor, who came to accompany her to the king. But she knew she’d see Sandor there anyway and her heart was pounding as she was getting near to her husband. She was disappointed again, though, when she saw Sandor. He was the first thing she noticed in the chamber, but he didn’t even look at her. Sansa’s heart sank. Wasn’t he happy to see her? At least a little bit? Didn’t he think about the night they’d spent together?

Sansa had expected Sandor to be full of joy today, but the opposite seemed to be true. He was scowling at the world more than ever and when Ser Meryn stood behind Sansa, Sandor looked like a hound getting ready to tear his prey apart. Why was Sandor so annoyed? He hadn’t been so tense even at the Hand’s Tourney. Did he regret claiming Sansa? He couldn’t walk back on it, he’d made her all sorts of promises, invoking the oldest northern laws. Perhaps Sansa should have taken him to the godswood right away and complete the ceremony, he wouldn’t dare to displease the old gods. Did he regret his decision? Did he want to leave her?

Joffrey looked at her with a mocking smile. “Do you feel better today, Lady Sansa?”

“Indeed, Your Grace, much better, you’re kind to ask.”

“I am very kind,” Joffrey agreed. “And I’ve heard that you want to see the city, visit some lesser craftsmen, who are not invited to sell their products in the Red Keep. Why have you not told me, my sweet bride?”

Sandor’s mouth twitched. 

Where had Joffrey heard such nonsense? It was a complete lie, Sansa would never say anything like it. She’d learnt how to avoid attention, she’d never admit she had some special wishes! But if it was Cersei who’d made those claims, Sansa couldn’t suggest the king’s mother was lying. “Where have you heard it, Your Grace?”

Joffrey shrugged. “You think there’s anything the king doesn’t know?” he snorted. “But since you were so ill yesterday, it has occurred to me that I could do something for you, today, make you feel better. You know how generous I am, Lady Sansa, don’t you?”

“I do, Your Grace,” she nodded, already terrified of what he had in mind.

“I want only the best for the future queen, but if all the seamstresses in the Red Keep are not enough, I’ll make sure you can safely roam the city on your own, too. That is…” Joffrey paused for effect. “There has to be someone to protect you, of course. What about… the Hound?” Joffrey suggested with a gleeful grin. “How would you like to spend a day with my dog, Lady Sansa?”

Sansa swallowed. She looked at Sandor, who was still scowling, still ignoring her. He wasn’t surprised, he’d already known about the plan. Had it perhaps been… his plan? “It’s very kind of you, Your Grace,” Sansa responded, still confused.

“But Joffrey,” Cersei purred. “You’ve heard how terrified the girl was yesterday, we can’t let Clegane scare her like that again.”

What exactly had Sandor told them? And why?

“Lady Sansa couldn’t possibly be scared, mother,” Joffrey’s smile even widened. “My dog perhaps used to scare her once, but she’s not a stupid girl anymore, is she?”

Joffrey was speaking to his mother, but Sansa knew a response was expected of her. “Of course not, Your Grace. You’re very kind,” she said, perfectly deferent, just like Joffrey liked her to be.

Joffrey was more than pleased with himself. “It’s an honour for you, after all, the dog used to protect my mother when she was your age, too. My mother would never be afraid of the Hound.”

“I’m sure,” Sansa nodded.

“It’s settled then. You can enjoy the city. Just like you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Your Grace,” Sansa’s manners were as impeccable as always. And Sandor’s expression was even darker than usual.

Cersei emptied her goblet. She always started the day with wine. “You’re still here, little dove?” she turned to Sansa. “Cleganes are impatient, you know. You should get ready, a fragile little thing like you shouldn’t try Clegane’s patience.” 

Sansa quickly curtsied and gladly removed herself from Cersei’s presence. She didn’t dare to ask where she should meet Sandor, he’d search her out himself, wouldn’t her? She hoped he would. He hadn’t changed his mind, had he? He wasn’t like that.

“Little bird,” came a voice out of nowhere.

Sansa yelped, shocked when a strong hand dragged her inside some dark room. Had the door always been there?

“Sandor, what are you doing!” 

“I was so worried, are you alright, little bird?”

Sansa blinked, looking around herself. What was this place? How did Sandor even get there so fast? “Of course, but what… why…”

“Has anyone seen the cloak?” Sandor smoothed a strand of hair from her cheek. 

“No, nobody has seen it.”

“I overslept in the morning, I was in a hurry to leave before the guard changed, I wasn’t thinking straight. I should have taken the cloak, I’m so sorry, little bird.”

Sansa smiled, touching his shoulder. “Nobody saw anything, Sandor, don’t worry, I’ll keep it hidden.”

“My clever little wife,” Sandor murmured, looking at her adoringly. He wasn’t angry after all. “How do you feel today, are you sore?”

“I’m fine,” she responded quietly. He had his hand on her waist, what did that mean? Perhaps he wasn’t angry, perhaps he actually wanted to claim her again. It wasn’t night and there was no bed in the room, but Sandor never cared about propriety. May be he’d just take her ruthlessly on the floor. How awful. He always had the most abhorrent ideas. 

“You don’t need to pretend with me, little bird, don’t think I didn’t notice the blood.”

“But I really am fine, Sandor, it’s nothing to worry about.” She was already so scared she felt the wetness pool between her thighs again. He did want to claim her, didn’t he?

“And Trant? Has he tried something?” Sandor was scowling once again. It wasn’t nice to be scowling like that at his own wife, Sansa would have to teach him about manners.

“No, he hasn’t, he just brought me to the king,” Sansa responded, a little perplexed. Why was Sandor so moody?

Sandor shook his head. “If you think Trant only brought you to the king, you aren’t paying enough attention. It’s obvious how he ogles you constantly.”

“But everybody does that, it’s normal.”

Sandor’s mouth twitched. “There’s nothing normal about that.”

“No, truly, Sandor, everything was fine.”

“I don’t like when you’re alone with that bastard, you have no idea what he’s…” Sandor shook his head. “Never mind. I’ve always tried to make sure you’re not alone with him, but I’m not everywhere, unfortunately,” he noted bitterly. It was a surprising admission, because so far he’d always appeared out of thin air in front of her, Sansa had almost suspected that he was indeed everywhere. Or some magic always brought him to her in the most unexpected moments.

“It’s fine, Sandor,” she tried to assure him once more.

“No, it’s not. I’ll try to do my best so that you’re never alone with him again. Or Boros, that bloody toad. It’s not safe. But when it happens, try to keep your maids around, will you?”

Sansa nodded. Something else was bothering her now. “Sandor, you have still not explained to me why Joffrey wants me to go with you to the markets!”

Sandor shrugged. “He thinks you’re terrified of me, he loves to hear about you being scared. And now he also believes it’s his idea for you to spend some time with me, it’s supposed to make you miserable.”

“But why did you persuade him of that?”

“Me? You think somebody can persuade our great king of anything?” Sandor snorted. “I told you it’s his idea,” he grinned mischievously. “People just need to get used to seeing us leave Red Keep together, everybody needs to think it’s normal. When we run away, we’ll need as much time as possible before they’ll figure out what’s happened.”

“Oh.”

Sandor froze a little. “You’ve changed your mind?” he asked quietly.

“No, of course not.”

Sandor wasn’t convinced. “So if we… if we went to the godswood today… you…” he cleared his throat. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“I like godswood.”

“Do you like godswood with me in it?” Sandor asked hesitantly.

“I do, Sandor, I’ll go gladly,” she squeezed his hand.

Sandor grinned in joy. Sansa shivered. He had such a terrifying smile, it pulled at his scars and made him look like the most frightening monster. Like something that would jump out of a dark forest to eat innocent princesses. It was so exciting! To imagine that Sansa could affect the Hound so much, she was the one he wanted. He didn’t think she was too weak, or stupid, he wanted her, not women like Cersei. And Sansa could indeed withstand him! What would Cersei think about that? Sansa wasn’t so fragile after all, was she? Honour and good manners always won in the end. 

“Little bird,” Sandor whispered, cradling her face. “I’ve been worrying all morning, imagining what could go wrong…” His thumbs grazed her cheeks. His lips touched her jaw, her chin, then settled in the curve of her neck and Sansa trembled under his light touch. He would claim her now, she was sure of it. But he was so gentle, his fingers ghosting over her skin like a whisper. She moaned, needing more, leaning into his touch. And then he stopped.

“Let’s go,” he grinned. “Let’s tell about us to your gods. To all the gods. Every god in this bloody world needs to know you’re mine.”

What? He wouldn’t continue in his kisses? He wouldn’t claim her now? Sandor was her husband, it was his duty to claim her and hers was to bear the suffering with dignity! Sansa scowled at her husband. He had a lot to learn.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m still not very functional, but since it’s my birthday tomorrow, you deserve a little gift for sticking with my stories all year long, despite the pauses. Thank you for reading!

Sansa put on her best undergarments, the ones she’d embroidered for her wedding night. It was entirely possible Sandor would want to claim her in the middle of the godswood, there were no limits to his indecency. She had to be prepared for any possibility. Wildling weddings were very different to all the ones Sansa had ever attended. She’d dreamt about it countless times, though. When a man claimed someone according to wildling laws, the new couple just told about their union to the old gods and prayed for their blessing, there were no set rules. There was no feast, no test of purity, no established vows. Sansa would stick to the traditional northern vows anyway, but she had no idea what Sandor would do. He wasn’t a man of many words, he was a man of action. Perhaps he’d ravish her in front of a weirwood tree and simply show the old gods that they belonged together. He wouldn’t say anything, he’d just throw her on the ground and brutally claim her, ignoring the sanctity of the place. That sounded exactly like him. 

At the last moment, Sansa decided to change her ribbons for the ones embroidered with weirwood leaves. If the gods were to see her in the most humiliating moment, they should also see how seriously she took her father’s religion. She herself would never sin in the sacred place. It wasn’t her fault that Sandor was so insatiable with her.

When Sandor knocked on her door, Sansa could barely contain her excitement. Sandor looked amazing in his best armour, he looked so strong he could tear the Warrior apart. And Sansa now knew what was under all that steal, she’d touched those muscles. Sandor’s mouth was scarred and deformed, but it had been so warm and passionate. And those grey eyes, there was no rage in them now, just pure, unadulterated adoration.

“Are you ready, little bird?” the man rasped softly. 

Sansa nodded, not daring to speak. Her voice wouldn’t sound ladylike at all now, Clegane had such a peculiar effect on her. She didn’t understand it, she felt oddly unsettled and yet thrilled and happy around him. It was probably the fear of his desires combined with the happiness of being loved and protected by such a fearsome warrior. 

Sandor caressed her cheek ever so softly and Sansa’s breath caught in her throat. Perhaps he’d claim her now, before they left. She was alone in her chamber, he could very well do it. He’d claimed her only four times in the past twelve hours, that couldn’t possibly be enough for such a beast. If he’d starve himself too much, he’d be even more savage the next time. It was probably better to get it over with now. 

“You still haven’t changed your mind?” Sandor asked, his voice quiet and oddly vulnerable.

Sansa shook her head. He would probably claim her now and in the godswood, too. And in the city. And then he’d come to her room at night again. It would be a hard life, being Sansa Clegane, constantly ravished by her monstrous husband. 

Sandor laughed in relief, his eyes glittering. “How can I ever deserve you, little bird?” his voice broke as he caressed her cheek gently. He bent down, touching his forehead to hers, rubbing his large nose against her delicate one. Sansa wasn’t sure whether an answer was expected. 

But Sandor thankfully continued, pressing soft kisses into her hair. “I never understood why in the seven hells I survived when I shouldn’t have,” he murmured. “But now I know my life is yours, little bird,” he placed a kiss just behind her ear. “I’ve survived so that I can keep you safe. And I will. I’ll do anything so that you can be safe and happy.”

Sansa lowered her lashes. He was so sweet. But he was saying his vows now, in advance, instead of saying them in front of the old gods. He clearly wanted to use the entire time in the godswood to make love to Sansa, instead of talking. What a wicked plan!

Sansa however enjoyed the feel of Sandor’s calloused palm against her soft skin. Sandor truly loved touching her, especially her face and hair and Sansa surprisingly didn’t mind it too much. She was glad her husband appreciated her features so much, even if he was constantly ruining her updo. She’d return to simple northern braids soon enough, Sandor would certainly enjoy having more access to her hair. 

His hands were huge and rough. Sansa remembered how he’d slid his hands down her body, how he’d caressed her legs, her thighs… When his finger touched her mouth, she remembered the very same finger pushing into her, moving inside her. She could die of embarrassment, just thinking about all the repulsive things he’d done to her. And he’d torture her again, she knew. 

He was still talking, but all Sansa could focus on was that hand. How could anyone even have such huge hands, it didn’t seem right. He could fit her entire breasts into them without any problem, it was very odd. 

“…and more lemon cakes than you could ever eat,” Sandor finished. Oh. He’d been talking about something important, hadn’t he?

Sansa felt embarrassed that she hadn’t been listening, it wasn’t like her to be so rude. She had to make it up to Sandor. And so she smiled at him and caressed his cheek, just the way he liked. With the way he looked at her, he now definitely wanted to throw her on the bed and do all the horrible things to her. Sansa smiled modestly and raised herself on her toes to kiss him. She’d kissed him on her own only twice so far and both times it had made him crazy. She was pleased to see that her kisses were still just as powerful. He didn’t move, or speak, though, so Sansa acted as if she hadn’t noticed the change in Sandor’s expression at all.

“Shall we go now?” Sansa smiled innocently.

“Little bird…” he rasped.

“Come Sandor, I want to introduce you to the gods,” she cooed. 

Sandor swallowed and obediently followed her if he was bewitched. She’d completely robbed him of his speech! She had so much power over the most powerful man. Sansa giggled and took his arm. It was perfect. He was gallantly leading her just like a true knight would, he walked much slower than usual to accommodate her pace. And he was so strong and fierce and yet he was hopelessly in love with her and he’d save her from a vicious king soon… it was like a song. Yes, Sansa could get used to this despite Sandor’s physicality. 

On the way to the godswood Sansa noticed people giving them odd glances. Some obviously pitied her for having to spend time with the Hound, some found it amusing, some people looked at Sandor’s face with apparent disgust. Sansa frowned and gripped Sandor’s arm a little tighter. They were judging him, everybody they encountered was judging Sandor. It wasn’t fair, they knew nothing about the man. They only saw the Hound, the façade, they didn’t know the man was capable of more love than all the Lannisters and Baratheons put together. They didn’t know his gentle kisses, they didn’t know how skilful fingers he had, they hadn’t seen him beam with happiness. Sandor was willing to risk and sacrifice everything for Sansa, just because he loved her. People hadn’t expected that, had they? They knew nothing. Sansa would take care of her husband, make the world see how great he was.

“What is it, little bird?” Sandor asked quietly.

“I don’t like the way people look at you,” Sansa pouted.

“What?” Sandor let out a bark of laugh. “They’re not thrilled to see the Lannister’s Hound? They see a killer, girl, a killer with only a half of a face, there’s nothing wrong with disliking that.”

“It’s not right. They don’t know you.”

Sandor chuckled. “What one night can do to a little bird’s judgement,” he murmured affectionately, looking down at her with mirth. Sansa didn’t like the self-satisfied smirk, nor the implication. She’d have had the same reaction to people’s rudeness a week, a year before! She was completely unbiased. Impartial judgement had always been her great strength, she was just like her lady mother in this regard.

“But you know, little bird,” Sandor continued as they walked by two lords from westerlands. “I don’t like the way people look at you, either. I could kill those buggers for that look.”

“There’s no harm in looking.”

“There might be for them.”

Sansa smiled. Her husband was joking, wasn’t he? He looked very happy, he wouldn’t hurt them. But he would protect her, it was so exciting to be protected by him. Sansa had always dreamt about having the greatest knight at her service. And Sandor was the greatest knight in King’s Landing, in Westeros, there was no doubt about it. All the great knights had been at the tourney, but he’d been the only one who jumped to defend Ser Loras from Gregor Clegane, he was the only one risking his life for someone else. Wasn’t that the epitome of chivalry? Sandor had been so courageous. He’d deflected the vicious attack with astounding honour, never attempting to kill the man who was trying to kill him. Why weren’t people singing about it yet? Sandor was a true knight, Sansa’s knight. Perhaps Sansa should make a song about the tourney herself. Secretly, of course, as a nameless bard, she wouldn’t be immodest. She’d only ensure the song spread the right message throughout Westeros. Sansa smiled to herself. She had the best ideas today!

“Get off her, Clegane,” a commanding voice interrupted them. “I’ve heard all about Joffrey’s new great idea, I’ll take Lady Sansa to the city myself.”

Sandor’s expression changed immediately and once again, Sansa got to see the hate return to Sandor’s soulful eyes. “Bugger off, Imp,” he snarled at the Lannister. “I am to keep the lady safe. From anyone.”

“Well, now you have a free day and I’ll take care of the lady myself.”

“I don’t take my orders from you.”

Lord Tyrion decided to ignore Sandor altogether. “Lady Sansa, you want to come with me, don’t you?” he gave her an encouraging smile. “I can show you my favourite places.”

“I don’t think the lady wants to see your brothels, Imp,” Sandor growled menacingly.

Joffrey’s uncle was still ignoring him. “I’ll buy you everything you want and more, my lady.” He raised his arm towards Sansa. Was he expecting her to take it?

Sansa smiled at him. “I’m sure the king knows what’s best for me, my lord,” she replied meekly, as was appropriate for a scared little maiden. “I would never disobey his wishes.” She kept her hand wrapped around Sandor’s thick arm. 

She could see Tyrion was disappointed by her response. Sansa was never quite sure whether she was hurting him by her frequent refusals, or she was offending him immensely. She didn’t want his gifts. Tyrion had always been very kind to her and she was thankful. He was the best of the Lannisters, but she’d felt extremely uncomfortable around him anyway. It was as if his every basic act of kindness somehow indebted her to him, as if she should be full of admiration that he wasn’t a heartless monster. And his constant leering… Sansa shuddered. She’d rather avoid that whenever she could. Was it ungrateful?

When they turned around the corner, Sandor looked at her with a loving smile. He was the only man who looked at her the right way. Granted, he’d been staring at her breasts just moments ago, but unlike everybody else, he’d managed to do that in an exciting manner. He probably wanted to kiss her there again, he always wanted to do that. He’d even said that she had the most beautiful bosom in the world. Well, he hadn’t used those words exactly, but it was what he meant. And he never lied. Sansa had never thought much about this part of her body, so it was a pleasant discovery. Sandor liked all parts of her body, though, he’d been very clear about that. He’d actually admired everything that Cersei had criticized about Sansa’s looks. Everything. Sansa smiled to herself. She’d often wondered what Sandor thought of her looks, she had found so many flaws that he could dislike and Cersei’s comments weren’t making it any better. But Sandor loved everything. And Sansa enjoyed being told that she was the most beautiful woman, Sandor should tell her again. 

There was nobody around. Sansa craned her neck to glance at her husband. Now was a good time, Sandor could start praising her beauty and virtues. He could tell he she had a graceful throat of a swan, or hands like delicate porcelain flowers. She’d always wanted to be likened to a swan in particular. Sansa gave her husband a coy smile. Well?

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous spark. “Bloody hells, girl, you shouldn’t look at me like this.”

Oh. That voice. She recognized it all too well now. He wouldn’t praise her swan-like beauty, he’d tell her something very wicked, wouldn’t he? Perhaps he’d even do something wicked right away. “Why not?” Sansa breathed out. 

Sandor stared into her eyes in moment, probably too mesmerized by Sansa’s beauty. “Because I’m a sodding dog,” he sighed then and looked away. That wasn’t at all what Sansa wanted! Why did he look away? It was much better when he praised her while looking at her. “I want to do everything right, little bird,” he grumbled. “I know how sacred the godswood is for you, how these things are important, how you want everything to be proper and good. And you deserve a knight who’ll give you that, not a bloody dog who can’t control himself.”

Sansa smiled. He couldn’t control himself, because he found her too beautiful, didn’t he? That was just fine, she could work with that. “Wolves are rather fond of dogs, you know.”

Sandor smirked and finally looked back at her. “You should tell that to your brother.”

“I will.”

A flock of ladies-in-waiting ruined the beautiful moment. As soon as they turned around the corner, Sandor’s mask appeared on his face immediately and Sansa quickly schooled her features, too. The Hound and a scared little girl walked pass the judgemental ladies, down the serpentine steps, but two lovers stepped into the godswood. Sansa almost ran to the oldest tree, it was so exciting to introduce Sandor to the old gods. They would approve of her husband, she knew. He was brave and strong and kind and so, so loyal. He was essentially a northerner. Northerners were great like that.

To Sansa’s surprise, Sandor’s hands seemed to be trembling. It was impossible for the Hound to be nervous, so he probably simply couldn’t contain his lust for Sansa.

Sansa dragged the man to her favourite spot and smiled at Sandor encouragingly. He was the man, he should start the ceremony.

Sandor looked deep into her eyes, completely lost again. It was an adorable habit, but sometimes rather inconvenient.

“Sandor,” Sansa nudged him gently.

“Right,” he cleared his throat. He looked at the tree, then back at Sansa, the tree again and finally he met her gaze again. “I come here to proclaim my love and marriage to a daughter of the north, Sansa Stark.”

Sansa pursed her lips. That wasn’t a proper way to address the gods at all! “You have to introduce yourself,” she advised the man patiently.

“Sandor Clegane. I’m Sandor of House Clegane, but now I just want to be yours,” he beamed, unsure and delighted at the same times. The power of raw emotions in his eyes was quite startling. Sandor was such a beast of a man, and yet in this moment, he was wearing the most innocent smile of pure happiness.

And Sansa gave him her widest smile, too. The way Sandor looked at her was truly disarming. She couldn’t fault him for adoring her, could she? “I am Sansa Stark, daughter of Catelyn and Eddard Stark and I come to ask for a blessing of my marriage to Sandor Clegane,” she adapted her words, filling in the gaps Sandor had left.

Sandor took a shaky breath and nodded. 

“You can repeat what you said before,” Sansa suggested.

“I’ll kill anyone who even thinks of hurting you.”

“I mean… about your feelings for me? The gods should hear it, Sandor.”  
“I’ll keep you safe, I swear,” Sandor proclaimed loudly.

Sansa giggled. Sandor was hopeless and he certainly didn’t follow any protocols, but he was quite adorable while doing that. Alright, there would be no formal speeches with this man. Sansa squeezed his hand. “I claim you as my husband.”

“And I claim you as my wife. I am yours and you are mine,” Sandor hadn’t probably even noticed that they had just skipped most of the traditions and most of the words. The only thing he could focus on was Sansa’s cloak, he wanted it off her and he wanted it as quickly as possible. But he still had those huge fingers, not really suited for Sansa’s delicate clasp. He let out a frustrated growl, but then Sansa felt the weight lifted off her shoulders and Sandor tossed the cloak away, as if it had somehow offended him. He then lifted his own cloak, revealing he’d been hiding a second one underneath. It was a beautiful cloak, made from a sumptuous fabric, and judging by the old-fashioned style of embroidery, it had been made about three decades prior. Probably just after Sandor’s birth, it looked like something a delighter mother would make for her babe. Sansa certainly would.

“From your mother?” Sansa whispered.

“Yes,” Sandor smiled with pride, his eyes glittering. 

“She was very talented,” Sansa whispered as Sandor placed the cloak around her shoulders. As he fastened the clasp, his cheek touched hers and Sansa smiled contently. Even without the pomp of other weddings, there was no doubt the old gods saw the bond between the new couple. They were probably relieved that Sansa hadn’t come to them with Joffrey, they’d never agree with that union.

Sandor kissed her cheek. “Everything I am, everything I have, all of me is yours, little bird.”

A wave of warmth filled her heart and it wasn’t because of the cloak. Sansa lowered her lashes and glanced at the yellow fabric engulfing her. Luckily, the cloak wasn’t as huge as Sansa had feared, Sandor’s mother had been very sensible. But before Sansa could enjoy the blessing of the old gods, Sandor took her face in his hands and placed a heated kiss on her lips.

This was it. Now he’d throw her into the grass and rip off her smallclothes and claim her brutally. He was pressing tiny, stinging kisses down along the column of her neck and Sansa closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable to happen. It was madness of Sandor to even think of doing this. What if somebody would walk into the godswood? Sansa trembled, imagining Joffrey seeing her being taken by the Hound. He’d see her in Sandor’s arms, kissing the man. He’d see Sandor’s devotion to her, how affectionate he was with her. Perhaps Joffrey would finally realize he’d managed to lose even the most loyal man.

Sandor wouldn’t stop making love to Sansa immediately, of course, he’d comfort Sansa first, kiss her to assure her that everything was fine. He probably wouldn’t even bother putting his clothes on, he wasn’t ashamed of his nakedness at all. And there was so much body that could be naked, he had so many muscles, so much hair, such a huge… well, many things. Sandor had many big things. And all of those things would be naked. He wouldn’t care, though. Sandor would only care about protecting Sansa, so he’d take his sword and kill Joffrey. Just like that, yes. It would be devastating, but Sandor put Sansa’s safety first, so this would undoubtedly be his reaction. And then they’d fight their way out of the Red Keep. Well, Sandor would fight, Sansa would support him. She really should have taken a dagger to the godswood, so that she could protect Sandor’s back. She’d always do that from now on.

Sansa opened her eyes. Why hadn’t Sandor torn off anything yet? She looked up in confusion. Sandor was just wiping his face with the back of his hand and when their eyes met, he gave her an awkward smile. She quickly embraced him and kissed his tears away. “You’re my puppy,” she whispered to him tenderly.

Sandor nodded, gladly returning her kisses. She could almost feel the relief was over him. Why was he so embarrassed about his emotions? Sansa loved how different Sandor was with her. She was the only one who got to see the real Sandor. She wouldn’t love the Hound, she much preferred this man right there.

“Little bird,” he groaned, but he still didn’t throw her on the ground. He hadn’t even seen her beautiful undergarments yet. It was the finest embroidery and he hadn’t seen a thing.

Was it possible Sandor didn’t want her anymore? Didn’t Sansa look pretty? She needed to know the truth. She was very perceptive, so she knew already what her husband enjoyed. And she was right, when she tenderly brushed her fingers through his hair, he leaned into her hand and let out a small sound that didn’t quite match the size of his body. And as her hand slid down his face, down his shoulder, his breath caught in his throat and he gaped at her helplessly. He did want her, didn’t he? He did! The thing between his legs couldn’t be any harder and the giant was trembling. But just when Sansa wanted to use her best trick, he finally grabbed her and kissed her forcefully. His tongue was sliding against hers, he was so savage, kissing her like a wildling warrior! A wildling king.

“Seven hells,” he grunted. He couldn’t quite tear himself away from her and he murmured against her lips, almost kissing her even while speaking. It was so romantic, nobody else probably ever did that. “I’m sorry, little bird, I truly don’t want to disrespect the place, it’s just…” he was breathing heavily.

Sansa smiled. She was pretty and her husband wanted her, it was a burden she had already accepted. “Yes?” she asked softly. 

He looked at her, looked at the tree and swallowed. “Let’s go, little bird, let’s get out of here.”

“But…”

He took her arm and lead her away. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t even have a peek at her pretty ribbons! He did nothing at all. And thus, Sansa Clegane left the godswood completely unravished.


	7. Chapter 7

Sansa had been married in the eyes of god for only a few moments and she was already cross with her husband. He didn’t notice it at all, though, oh, no, he didn’t even look at her! Why was he so horrible to her? After the ceremony in the godswood, any good lord would kiss her gently and whisper to her sweet little nothings. And any wildling, who invoked the old laws as Sandor had, any good savage would throw her on the ground and show her brutally to whom she belonged. Sandor did neither of those things, he just dragged her away as fast as he could.

“Sandor, what are you…”

“Quiet,” he hissed. He was looking at a wall. A wall! An ugly old was more interesting to him than Sansa. Sansa frowned and turned away. If he’d care to glance at her now, he’d see that she wasn’t interested in looking at him, either. No, she was looking at a beautiful bush full of delicate blossoms. Any good husband would pluck those blossoms off, so that she could decorate her hair with them and keep them to remember the day.

Sansa’s monstrous husband did no such things. Instead he placed his huge paw on her shoulder and pushed her into a little corridor. A corridor? Where had that come from? How had the man conjured a door out of a wall? Anyway, the corridor clearly wasn’t built for a lady. It was very narrow, it wasn’t a place for big dresses, nor for anyone in armour. It was a space intended solely for servants, but Sandor managed to fit his body in anyway. He moved very smoothly for such a large man, for any man, he was precise in every step, more like a cat than a dog. It was quite impressive how swiftly he was able to move through the darkness. But there was only one explanation why he’d dragged her into complete darkness. He wanted her to be even more helpless to his carnal desires. He didn’t need to see, he could claim her even in the dark. Without the light he could ignore his better judgement and give way to his most brutal desires. What would it be? Perhaps he’d tie her down, so that she would be defenceless in the dark and completely unable to move. He’d possess her brutally, then, make her obey the most lewd commands. And she’d have to do everything he’d say, unable to even see what was coming. Sansa’s innocent mind couldn’t even imagine what torture he had planned for her.

Sansa nearly fell on the stairs, but Sandor effortlessly steadied her. He was so strong. He even found another door and opened it with confidence, as if nothing could ever surprise him. Sansa hesitantly entered a little room, still unsure of where she was. There was a narrow window under the ceiling that illuminated the room, but all Sansa could see outside was yet another bush, which probably blocked the view from the outside, too. 

Interesting. It looked like a hiding spot. And there was a large stone bench just bellow the window, big enough for a one giant man to lie on. Very interesting.

“You know this castle well,” she noted coldly.

“Sure,” Sandor stepped on the bench, looking out of the window. He still wasn’t paying attention to his wife. 

“I guess you must have brought many women here,” Sansa concluded.

Sandor snorted. “You think that’s why I know the castle?”

“Is there any other explanation?”

“What about me being a guard, little bird? I should know where any threat could come from and what places are the safest, don’t you think?”

“Hmm,” Sansa pouted. She still didn’t know enough about his past. Had he ever loved anyone before? Had he ever been betrothed? He’d had a wedding cloak ready, after all.

Sandor chuckled behind her, pulling her back against his chest as he enfolded her in his arms and kissed the crown of her head. “No, I haven’t brought anyone here,” he whispered. “For your information, I’ve never had any reason to bring anyone to the castle. A very different sort of little birds once used this place as a hiding spot.”

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind. They don’t come here anymore, there are now better places for spying on the white cloaks. But that’s good for us, almost no one knows about this tunnel, and it ends right next to my room. You can eavesdrop on my snoring from here, too. If you ever need to hide, this is the place, little bird.” He kissed her behind the ear, his hands caressing her waist.

“Is that why you wanted to show me?” 

“Not exactly,” he whispered, taking her face in his hands. “I have some other plans with my little wife,” he tugged her lip between his teeth. “Wife,” he repeated the word that somehow seemed to bring him so much joy. Sansa lowered her lashes.

“Don’t look away, little bird,” he murmured, his voice all vulnerable again. “Please, don’t. Not you.”

Sansa immediately met his gaze, happy to see him smile again. She’d already decided his eyes were her favourite feature. It was nice when he stroked her cheek with his thumb and gently kissed her. He then kissed the tip of her nose and quirked his lips mischievously. Only too late she realized he’d already managed to unhook her bodice. He quickly removed it, as well as her skirt.

“Sandor!” Sansa gasped in horror. Surely, he didn’t mean to undress her there! He was such a savage, he’d probably rip off the rest with his teeth. And then he’d bend her down over the bench and… and…

But Sandor stopped in his scandalous behaviour, cursing under his breath. “What in the seven hells…”

Sansa looked down. He had very skilled fingers, but they certainly were not good at untying knots.

“I have very delicate laces,” she warned him. 

“Well, get rid of them, then! Take it off,” he growled impatiently.

“But I can’t!”

“Should I cut it off?” he seemed to like the idea.

“No! I can’t just take off my kirtle in the middle of the day!”

“Why not?”

“It’s not proper! 

“Well, then you’ll get improperly shagged, but you’ll get rid of it, girl.”

“But…”

“I really will cut that thing off, little bird,” he threatened. “I want to see you in the daylight. Go on.”

With trembling hands, Sansa started unlacing her kirtle. As soon as she was finished, Sandor threw it away, eagerly touching every inch she’d uncovered. He grabbed her partlet, tearing it off her ruthlessly. 

“This, too.”

“Those are stays,” she educated him. She’d made them herself, he should recognize her artistic style.

“I don’t bloody care, take it off,” he seemed very impatient. What had happened to him?

“I can’t! Not with the farthingale on.”

Sandor looked down, untied her farthingale and let it fall to the ground along with Sansa’s bum roll. He stripped her even of her petticoat.

“Take it off,” he looked at the stays again as if they were his greatest enemy.

Sansa pouted and started unlacing her beautiful stays. She was sure he’d never see more beautiful stays again, but he hadn’t even stopped to appreciate them.

Sandor Clegane wasn’t a very patient man, was he? After a moment he growled in frustration and fell to his knees, obscenely lifting her chemise. Sansa gasped in shock. 

“Don’t stop, girl, take it all off,” he commanded, pulling down her smallclothes without any hesitation whatsoever. He let out a long groan and nuzzled his face between her thighs, sniffing at her like a dog. “I thought I’d go crazy before I’d have another taste of you, girl.”

Sansa yelped, when he parted her legs. She was utterly mortified by the humiliating position, her whole body was quivering in fear and she again felt the horrible ache in her tummy. Sandor had very disturbing habits. Sansa wasn’t naïve, she had known a lot about marital life, but she’d never heard anything about men spending so much time with their heads between their wives’ legs! And yet it was clearly something very important to Sandor. He truly had preferences of a dog, no other man would even think of looking that way!

“Why aren’t your stays off yet?” Sandor rasped and in her confused state, Sansa started again obediently unlacing her stays. Sandor slipped his tongue between her folds, making disturbingly happy sounds as if he was tasting lemon cakes. Sansa moaned, nearly collapsing in shock.

But then Sandor straightened up, a strange darkness clouding his eyes. “What pretty knight have you been dreaming about, girl?” he glowered at her suspiciously.

“What do you mean?” Sansa gasped.

“Who was it? The Tyrell boy? Have you been thinking about his sweet kisses, dreaming about him fucking you instead of me?”

“No, of course not!”

“Who, then?” His fingers were painfully digging into her flesh. “What pretty lordling should I kill? Don’t lie to me, girl, who have you been thinking about?”

“You, of course!” Sansa whined. “We’ve just been to the godswood, who else would I be thinking about?”

“Me?” Sandor frowned.

“Yes, of course you!” 

“Seven bloody hells, you’re not lying,” he swallowed. His expression immediately eased, although he looked completely astonished. “You’ve… you’ve got so wet just thinking about me?”

“No, I have not!” 

He smirked. He looked rather giddy all of a sudden, Sansa didn’t understand him at all. “Don’t lie to me, girl, I’ve told you a dog can always smell a lie,” he nuzzled her neck, sniffing at her. “You’ve dreamt about me! Even after I made you bleed, you still want me, don’t you? The little bird wants my cock.”

“No, I don’t!”

Sandor chuckled. “Tell me, what it was,” he begged. “Tell me. I didn’t know anybody could even be so wet. What did you think about? What did you see, or imagine?”

“I thought only of the godswood!”

“Ah, should I play a tree, then? Is that what you enjoy?” he teased her, nipping at her skin.

Sansa blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Sandor shrugged. “Well, if that’s what it takes, I don’t mind pretending to be made of weirwood. I’m hard enough, you know.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sansa pursed her lips.

Sandor smirked, took her hands and to her horror he forced her to undo his breeches. He looked a bit too pleased with himself. Sansa didn’t fight him, of course, she was a good girl. But when his… his thing fell into her hand, she shivered in trepidation. He was indeed very hard. And huge. Sandor guided her, his fist firmly clenched around her delicate hand, making her move along his length. It was devastating to imagine where he wanted to put that huge thing, he should be ashamed of himself! But the Hound didn’t know shame, instead he looked as if nothing better could be happening to him. There was an obscene gleam in his eyes, utterly repulsive. When he released her, Sansa dutifully continued moving her hand, not daring to stop. Sandor’s manhood was so ugly and terrible and yet somehow incredibly silky, as if it didn’t even belong to the twisted monster. 

But when Sandor let out a loud groan, she jumped aside, letting go of him. He smirked. “Take off my armour, girl,” he commanded.

“I’ve never done that,” she peeped.

“I’m not even wearing a plate armour today, little bird, it’s easier than all of your bloody laces. Go on, you can start with the breeches.”

“That’s not the right order,” Sansa shook her head. She was perhaps not a knight, but she had read enough books to know about them. Sandor chuckled at her reaction and lifted his arms, bidding her to undress him. Sansa bit her lip and stepped onto the bench to be on Sandor’s eyelevel. She liked that, looking at the world from the Hound’s perspective, not having to crane her neck to look her husband in his eyes. Like this she could easily take off Sandor’s baldric. She then carefully removed all the parts that made up his sleeve. What else could she safely take off? She looked him up. Oh, dear, that was a mistake, she could still see his manhood pointing at her, threatening. Bad, bad, that was bad. And ugly. Alright, gorget now, she could take off his gorget. Sandor stood still, watching her undo the straps and he even bent down so that she could free his neck more easily. He did have a nice neck. It looked manly, somehow. Sansa caressed it absentmindedly. Even his neck was muscled. Pity it was burnt just like his face, he must have suffered so much. Sansa placed a little kiss on his neck to make it better. It was perhaps a mistake, because the man shivered, his gaze becoming even more predatory. He stayed still, though, letting her undress him.

It was unnerving, how intently Sandor kept watching her. Why was he enjoying this? Sansa was almost crippled by fear of what was to come, she knew how cruel Sandor could be. Her body reacted to her dread as usual by producing more of that strange wetness between her legs that Sandor kept obscenely talking about. It wasn’t her fault she was so scared. Even if it was unladylike, it was completely uncontrollable! Sansa swallowed. She struggled to undo the man’s belt. She had to look down, staring right at the thing between his legs, which Sandor enjoyed for some wicked reason. But she wouldn’t let him win, oh, no, she was a wolf. She remembered her lady mother and she decided to elegantly lower herself onto her knees, as if she was in prayer. Sansa had twice caught her mother adjusting father’s belt like that in private. It was an unusual, but a very pious position and it had made even solemn Ned Stark smile, it was very appropriate. And Sansa wouldn’t have to look down at Sandor’s manhood.

Sansa blinked, suddenly realizing her situation. No, not better. Not better at all. She wasn’t looking down at Sandor’s manhood, alright, the thing was now at her eyelevel! Oh, dear. Her mother had never had to face such problems.

“What are you doing, little bird?” even Sandor was completely startled for once.

Sansa swallowed, too terrified to look away. It wasn’t fair, she was kneeling on the bench, she should be seeing completely different body parts in front of her. How long were Sandor’s legs anyway? It really wasn’t right, being so tall.

“Little bird?” Sandor repeated, his voice hoarse and terrifying.

He would probably make her kiss that thing now. And it was unbelievably ugly, it would be even worse than kissing Sandor’s burnt mouth. It would be very smooth against her lips, though, and so big… Sansa wondered what it tasted like.

“Sansa.”

Sansa looked up, but she didn’t dare to respond. Sandor was staring down at her, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. She licked her lips, fearing of what her husband would do now.

“Seven hells,” he groaned. He had no problem with the belt at all. And within moments he had his brigandine off, too, kicking off his breeches. How… how could he do that so fast?

He picked her up, swiftly removing her loosened stays as well as the chemise. He lay her on the pile of his clothes.

“You really love my cock, don’t you?” he groaned into her ear. “You can’t get enough of it.”

The chainmail fell to the ground, too, as his did shirt. Sandor was naked, completely naked. And she was, too. Everybody was naked!

“No, I don’t, it’s huge!”

“Is it?” Sandor smirked, all too satisfied with himself. He forced her legs apart and took his place between them. “It fits into your pretty cunt quite nicely, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Sandor chuckled and plunged into her with brutality only he possessed. Sansa yelped. “You’re right, it doesn’t fit just nicely,” Sandor agreed. He thrust deep into her, up to the hilt. “It fits perfectly,” he grunted into her ear.

Sansa whimpered under his fierce hold. Sandor was stretching her beyond her limits, how could he be so cruel to her? Her whole body felt raw and sensitive, her nipples pointed up as if they had frozen in shock and even her insides were quivering in fear.

“Bloody hells, girl, you don’t need much, do you?” Sandor chuckled.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she could barely speak. 

“No?” Sandor bit at her jaw and his fingers skimmed over the sensitive place between her legs.

He was warging into her, she was sure of it now. He was warging into her, robbing her of all senses. Sansa was a lady, she herself would never moan loudly, or move with him in unison. But all she could feel now was him, his weight, the smell of his skin, the feel of him. He’d taken control over her body, making her do anything he wanted. He was warging into her and Sansa couldn’t even decide what she thought about it. She felt as if she was falling apart. She was falling, and falling and she forgot even how to breathe, her body convulsing uncontrollably for what seemed like an eternity. 

“Seven hells, girl,” Sandor groaned, staring at her in fascination. “You’re so gorgeous when you come,” he caressed her face gently. “Such a bloody goddess. And with my cock inside you… seven hells.”

He wasn’t moving, he seemed rather stunned. Perhaps he regretted warging into her, as well as he should, it had been rather rude after all. But as he bent down to kiss her, he forced his manhood deep into her again, his movement more erratic than before.

“You’ll come again for me, won’t you?” he grunted.

The strength of the man was utterly terrifying. Sansa didn’t even have the time to reflect on her tragic situation. His hips slammed into her with audible impact and he entwined his fingers with hers, pressing both her hands into the pile of clothing. As if she hadn't been defenceless enough! Sansa arched her back, letting out a loud lament and Sandor’s eyes immediately snapped to hers. He was assessing her as some oddity. Her protests had however worked. He let go of her hands and his cadence unexpectedly got much slower and careful. He placed delicate kisses down her throat, caressing her hair with odd tenderness. It was all astonishingly sweet and Sansa let out a sigh of relief. Perhaps she’d finally succeeded at taming the Hound. He wasn’t warging into her anymore, he wasn’t even groaning loudly, he’d learnt the true propriety. Sansa was grateful for that. She laid her arms elegantly along her body and looked at the ceiling, waiting for Sandor to be done. 

Sandor was still watching her with his piercing gaze, as if he was testing her, but now he was at least treating her with appropriate tenderness. It was quite nice, comforting. Sansa’s breathing eased and her face relaxed in serene, very ladylike repose. Nobody had ever been more graceful while performing their marital duty than her.

But then something changed again. Something changed horribly. Just when Sansa closed her eyes, Sandor placed a stinging bite on her collarbone. More followed, as he moved his way lower. He would bite, then lick and suckle the hurt, savagely marking her skin and making her tremble. He nibbled his way to her breast and sunk his teeth into her aching nipple. Sansa yelped in surprise. 

“Sandor! You can’t…” It came out more as a moan.

He pulled back, her nipple caught between his teeth. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes. He was such a monster, a horrible, cruel monster, squeezing her breasts ruthlessly. 

Sansa's whining only seemed to encourage him further. The Hound stopped abusing her breasts for a moment, but he pinned her arms above her head and she was once again completely defenceless. Sansa cried out in fear again, arching her back to his vicous intrusion. 

He finally pulled out of her, but he also smirked dangerously. “Who would have thought,” he murmured, more to himself, as if he’d just made a great discovery. “The little bird might not dream about some gentle lordlings after all.” The idea seemed to both amuse and please him immensely. 

He sank back inside her with more force than before. He let go of her arms, but he was still firmly holding her down, pushing his monstrous manhood even deeper into her, forcing low moans out of her throat. She hated it when he did that, when he took control of her body, she hated how he was invading her body and mind again. Sansa could barely catch a breath, barely hang on as the room around her spun away and there was only his massive body, pounding into her. 

Sandor wasn’t gentle at all. His hand tightened in her hair, forcing her to look at him. But when their eyes met, it was Sandor who was shaking. “So bloody beautiful,” he grunted. “So mine. Mine.” 

Why couldn’t he stop for a moment? It was so cruel. Sandor was far too big for her, far too savage, too loud. Sansa’s flesh felt battered and bruised, the sounds of their bodies colliding filled the air and his brutal rhythm wasn’t slowing down at all, quite the contrary. And Sansa couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t scream for help, she couldn’t fight him, she couldn’t even breathe. She could only hang onto Sandor as she completely shattered under him. Sandor’s loud groan only made it worse, the rush of something very warm inside her made Sansa tremble more. How could he do this to her?!

Sandor was panting in her arms, his eyes glittering. He let out a small, exhausted chuckle. “That was a song I could hear all day long, Lady Sansa enjoying getting properly fucked.”

“I’m not, it’s just because of you!” Sansa feebly complained about the warging.

“Because of me,” he breathed out. “That’s right, it’s just me.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Lady Sansa only wants me, no one else. Just me.”

That wasn’t what Sansa was saying at all. But Sandor silenced her with another kiss, their breath mingling. There was so much devotion and adoration in his kisses, she couldn’t even argue with him, it wasn't fair.

Sandor carefully withdrew from her then and rolled onto the bench, breathing hard. He yanked her on top of his body again. Even in his exhausted state, he kept playing with her hair with one hand and kneading her bottom with the other. It was nice, that long, comfortable silence. When Sansa lay her head on Sandor’s incredibly furry chest again, it felt oddly familiar. He was so warm and strong, she liked feeling his heartbeat.

When it was time to go, Sandor wasn’t very cooperative. It took them too long before they were ready to leave the place. The man simply couldn’t stop touching and kissing Sansa, he was truly obsessed. And he was very cuddly, too, giggling here and now like a little boy and making dressing up rather difficult. But they eventually did leave their secret hiding spot and headed to the stables, so that they could finally go to the city as Joffrey had ordered.

Sansa wondered whether everybody would realize what they’d just done. Without a mirror she couldn’t be sure her hair looked presentable and Sandor wasn’t the most reliable judge of that, either. And he himself now looked so unnaturally happy, it was sure to catch someone’s attention.

Sansa glanced at her tall husband. He did look like a savage, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that he had mysterious wildling skills. It still was, though. “I’ve always thought that all the stories about warging were a myth, you know,” Sansa admitted quietly. “I had no idea you had a talent in warging yourself.”

“Warging?” Sandor raised his brow. “Is that a northern word for shagging?”

“You can’t speak like that Sandor,” Sansa hissed, “it’s not right!”

“Very well, then, little bird,” he smirked. Even with his burnt face he now somehow reminded Sansa of a peacock spreading his feathers. He looked around with an expression of utmost pride that not even the Lannisters could match. There was nothing subtle or discreet about his delight. “But I’ll warg you anytime you want. I don’t mind sharing my… talent.”

Somehow, he made even that sound crude.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure why this chapter is twice as long as I intended, but I blame Sandor.

Sansa had been to many markets many times, it was nothing new to her. She’d seen the filth of streets, the horrifying habits of the uncouth commoners and she’d always been very gracious about it and tolerant. Sandor however felt he needed to shield her from everything, not even allowing her to show her charitable spirit. It was nice to an extent, but quickly getting tiresome.

Sandor was also oddly insistent on wasting his money on the most ridiculous things, needlessly expensive. When he offered to buy her a hideous bracelet, Sansa started to get worried that he was trying to buy the most expensive jewellery just to prove something. He probably wanted to show that he could give her a lifestyle worthy of a Stark. But Sansa didn’t like that, which she told him in no uncertain terms. Sandor was clearly proud of how much he’d saved, and she appreciated that, but she didn’t want him to think that she cared about his wealth. She had incredibly matured over the last few months, he needed to understand that. Sansa knew she wouldn’t struggle as Sandor’s wife and that was enough. She’d much rather have a modest life with an adoring second son of a minor house, than be the richest queen and live in fear, getting frequently degraded. She would be completely satisfied with a humble life in some small castle with no more than a hundred servants. Sandor was a beast, but he loved her and that made all the difference. He should appreciate her modesty more, too.

And he should talk more about the love he had for Sansa. Sansa knew a lot about the first days of marriage, it was a topic she had been thoroughly studying for a long time. She didn’t expect her life to be like some silly song, of course, but it was normal for newlyweds to discuss how much the man adored his lady and what he particularly admired about her. This was the right time for Sandor to do that, but he instead spent the time scaring off everyone.

And the commoners had clearly suffered enough as it was. It shocked Sansa how unwell and unfed some people looked, did Joffrey know how people in King’s Landing lived? Sansa was sure her peasants wouldn’t look like that. Wherever Sandor would get his castle, Sansa would make sure that their people would be the healthiest, happiest peasants in Westeros and they’d never be hungry. She’d make such huge stocks, their people and animals wouldn’t know hunger even if two long winters came close after each other. Sansa hoped Robb would give her a castle as soon as he’d learn about her marriage. Winter was coming and she had work to do.

Sansa looked around, disturbed by the poverty she saw. This was supposed to be the good part of the city, how was it possible somebody was starving here? “Can’t we give them something?” Sansa quietly asked.

“Not if you don’t want to get torn apart, girl.”

“But I have taken money with me. Joffrey doesn’t know I still have something, but I do!”

“Don’t even think of taking it out,” Sandor hissed.

Sansa frowned. Sandor didn’t understand what he was talking about, those people clearly needed help. And she had two coins just for such occasion.

Sansa encouragingly smiled at a woman with a little, fragile looking baby. “Here. May the Seven bless you.”

The woman looked at her as if she was seeing the Mother herself, completely shocked by Sansa’s generosity. There. Sandor should watch Sansa and learn from her. It was a true knight’s duty to protect others, but lady’s duty and honour was to look after other people’s well-being. 

Sansa bent down to another child, who didn’t have a mother around. The boy perhaps didn’t even have one, he was so dirty, the poor little thing. Sansa gave him the other coin she had, caressing his grubby little cheek. 

A man across the street yelled at her as if she was some tavern wench. “I need to buy food, too, m’lady!” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t have more to give,” Sansa smiled at him apologetically.

“And what about that pretty thing you have on your neck, m’lady? We’re starving here.”

Another man grabbed Sansa’s arm. “And what about me? How am I supposed to feed my children, when everything got so expensive?” 

And then he got punched to the ground by one giant fist. Sandor. Sandor roared like the beast he was, taking out his sword and pulling Sansa away. Everybody immediately jumped aside and the man on the ground started crawling away, too, his nose bleeding. Sandor had shattered his nose! And now the people were scared, the children were scared! Sandor had completely ruined the moment. There was no need to be violent.

“What the fuck are you doing, girl?” he was dragging her away forcefully.

“Giving them at least something, so that…”

“If you give one, a thousand others will come and demand more.”

“But Sandor, they’re hungry!”

“And you’ll be dead if you act like this! They hate us, girl, and no wonder at that. It’s better not to bring attention to us, they could very well start a riot. And I can’t fight off every hungry person in this bloody city!”

“Why would they hate me?”

“Because you’re a bloody lady in a dress that costs more than their house? Because they are hungry, while you see more food in a day than they do in two moon turns?”

“Does Joffrey know that?”

Sandor shrugged. “He gets told constantly that people need food, but to him the only important thing is his own greatness. He still thinks he should be adored and praised.”

“You shouldn’t have hit the man anyway! He was just desperate.”

“I would have killed him, if I didn’t know you’d hate me for that,” Sandor snarled.

“That’s not a solution. We have to do something about this, Sandor!”

“You have no power here, girl. The best thing you can do for this city is to get out of it, so that the Lannisters don’t have any leverage left against the Starks. The wedding should be any day now, and when your brother marries the Tyrell girl, the war will be soon over. Hopefully without sacking of the city.”

“And the people will be better fed, then?”

“Of course, they will. Your brother has to sit on the Iron Throne, there’s no way the Tyrells will let Stannis be the king. And yes, the Tyrells will be able to feed the city, then, unlike the Lannisters.”

Sansa nodded. She’d help her brother as much as she could. Robb on the Iron Throne… she hadn’t thought of that. Yes, he’d make sure people in the city were taken care of. Sansa smiled at the poor people. Robb would save them. He was so good and honourable, he’d be a wonderful king. 

When Sandor saw her smile, his expression softened. “You’re too kind, little bird, but you can’t let that get you killed.”

He spoke gently and Sansa liked how close his strong body was to her, but the way he kept tightly holding her arm was suspicious. It could be for protection, or he could have some other intentions, too. Judging by his hard breathing, he could very well be planning to ravish her right there on the street. Sansa lowered her lashes, trying to discreetly discern whether his manhood was already hard. It probably was, Sandor always kept making his manhood hard. She’d probably have to touch the thing again with her hand, Sandor had enjoyed that. Or she’d have to use her mouth. Sansa anxiously swallowed. She was sure it would taste of wine.

While Sansa fully expected Sandor to drag her into some dark corner, he instead brought her to yet another goldsmith. Sansa looked around, wondering whether there was some secret space he wanted to use, but Sandor just smiled at her, showing her some jewellery, as if his intentions were completely innocent. Sansa knew better than to believe that.

This time, though, Sandor at least didn’t try to impress her with his wealth. He just stood there, watching her quietly and scaring the poor goldsmith. But Sansa soon saw that her husband was eyeing dainty hair pins in shape of little birds. She’d noticed them, too. The craftsmanship was quite astounding, Sansa didn’t understand why this goldsmith never came to the Red Keep. His work consisted of some very intricate designs, much more delicate than the heavy decorations of the Lannisters. Sansa preferred this jewellery to what Joffrey had given her, it was much more flattering for her own features. After all, she’d always been told she herself was a very delicate beauty. Sandor tentatively touched one of the birds, biting his lip.

“Those are beautiful,” Sansa smiled.

“You like them?” Sandor’s face immediately lit up.

“Ah, yes, I do, very much.”

“We’ll take the birds!” Sandor rasped at the goldsmith and the poor man trembled in fear. He obviously didn’t realize Sandor was actually speaking in a very sweet voice, only a little houndy. But Sandor himself then threw a worried glance glanced at Sansa. “You’ll take them, right?” he asked hesitantly.

“Right,” Sansa replied softly. The birds weren’t as expensive as the things he’d offered her previously, but they were like something straight out of a fairy tale and a perfect reminder of their wedding day. Sansa gently stroked Sandor’s hand so that nobody would see. For such a large man Sandor could sometimes be quite adorable. Especially when he later insisted on placing the little birds into her hair himself. He’d dragged her into a small little sept, where they were all alone. Sansa knew he still had the same wicked intentions, he wanted to ravish her even in the house of the Seven. But for now he was taking time decorating Sansa’s hair with an utmost focus and care. Sansa wished her maids were this careful when handling her hair, too.

“You have amazing hands,” Sansa praised him out loud. Gods knew the man usually didn’t get much appreciation from people.

She could feel Sandor’s fingers suddenly tremble in her hair, so she decided to continue. “If only it would be you brushing my hair in the evenings.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” Sandor breathed out.

Sansa couldn’t help but chuckle at his eager response. “No, you’re much better at handling it than any of my maids.”

“Your hair is so beautiful, little bird,” Sandor placed the last pin with almost holy reverence. “I’ve been dreaming about touching it ever since we spoke together for the first time,” he admitted hesitantly.

There was quite a bit of embarrassment in Sandor’s voice, as if he was a little boy caught stealing lemon cakes. But he’d made Sansa very happy. It was just as it should be. Sansa had always hoped her husband would appreciate her hair as much as her father loved her mother’s hair. She’d been quite disappointed by Joffrey’s comments about her supposedly wildling ginger hair, but Sandor more than made up for it. She decided she’d offer Sandor tonight to brush out her hair himself, it was something intimate and yet very proper they could do. Besides, he was indeed very protective of her hair. The Hound could be the best maid, who would have thought. 

When Sansa turned on her seat to face Sandor, he was still looking over his handiwork with pride. Sansa giggled lightly and cupped his cheek with her palm. Touching him always made her hands look particularly small and delicate, she quite liked that. She was enjoying the moment of peace, too, she’d never got opportunity to sit next to Sandor before. It made their height difference a little more tolerable, she could actually look him in the eyes without straining her neck now.

Sandor leaned into her hand, watching her with a content little smile on his lips. Sansa had got used to his face already. He was still the scariest looking man she knew, still the ugliest. But somehow, he was ugly in a rather captivating, manly way. And the love in his eyes almost made him attractive. Sansa didn’t understand it. She knew he was probably imagining her naked right now, planning to do some unspeakable things to her. And yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, she even wanted to kiss him. How should she show him that she wouldn’t mind a little, chaste kiss?

The door opened and Sandor immediately stood up. A small woman walked into the sept, surprised to find someone there at all.

“You’ve had enough prayers, girl?” Sandor growled at Sansa, though his voice lacked the usual bite.

“Oh, yes, ser, I’ve… yes,” she played her role well, too.

“Come on, then, we should be going,” he proclaimed loudly.

“Yes, ser, thank you, ser,” Sansa mumbled.

The woman who’d interrupted them was staring right at her and Sansa could feel the blush colouring her cheeks. And not only her cheeks, her whole body was burning in embarrassment, everybody would read all her secrets in her face. Sansa hurried out of the sept, never stopping to even look back.

“It’s fine, little bird, it’s fine,” she heard a low rumble of Sandor’s voice.

“Are you sure? Don't you think she noticed something?”

“Of course, not,” he grumbled. “Don’t worry, little bird, our secret is safe. Nobody would ever believe we could be together.”

There was some bitterness in Sandor’s voice, but Sansa was relieved anyway. She looked up at him. He was probably right. She was playing her part almost perfectly and Sandor was appropriately scary. Nobody would suspect anything.

“They will believe it when the time is right,” she assured Sandor quietly.

He didn’t say anything, but she knew he’d needed to hear that. Sansa wasn’t shallow like other people, she wasn’t even angry at him for the way he had claimed her body and soul. She’d be a wonderful wife to him. And he’d be a great husband, too, nobody would be more protected than her. Of course, people would realize they belonged together, she could be the beauty of their marriage, he could be the strength.

If only Sandor talked more about his love for her. He showed her the most beautiful streets in King’s Landing, telling her about the history of many places. Sansa hadn’t realized before how knowledgeable he was, but unlike Cersei he’d apparently paid attention to people sharing their stories with her. Sandor spoke beautifully, just never about his love for Sansa. He could say at least something, couldn’t he? Or do something. He was a man of action, so if he had at least thrown her into the dirt, forcing himself on her, it would be his own way of expressing himself. But Sandor went for hours without a single word of love, without violating her even a little bit.

When Sandor talked about escapades of some unfortunate knights, Sansa couldn’t help laughing, which clearly pleased the man. His eyes twinkled with amusement and Sansa wished she could just kiss him and hold his hand for everyone to see. They needed to do a lot of kissing in the North. Not for some sinful reasons, but just to prove to everyone that they were indeed married and bedded and no king could remarry her to anyone else. Sandor would probably use the safety of the North to claim her even more often than now. 

Whenever they passed some dark alley, Sansa shivered expecting Sandor to drag her there and claim her again. It would be very scary and dangerous. They could get caught, too, somebody could see Sansa getting brutally ravished by the Hound. The mere idea was so terrifying it made Sansa’s tummy ache again. Snador would probably kneel in front of her and press his face between her legs. He always wanted to do those wicked things with his tongue. He’d… Sansa frowned. Was that the stable where they’d left Stranger and her horse?

“Lady Sansa!” some man walked to her. “I’m so happy to see you in person.”

Sandor stood a little closer to her. Far too close to be appropriate.

“I’m Lord Melton,” the man ignored the white cloak altogether. “I own the best stables all over the city, my lady!”

Ah, Sansa knew the name. Melton, Melton. Low nobility from Riverrun, that’s it. He’d earned himself a lot of money and he’d become a welcome guest of the Tullies. He was one of the most renowned horse dealers in Westeros and lately he’d been trying his luck with other investments. He didn't have exactly impeccable manners, did he? But he was apparently very handsome. He was probably only a few years older than Sandor and about as tall as Sansa. He had a slim, elegant build and Sansa liked his clothing, which was fitted according to the newest fashion. She greeted him politely, patiently listening to all the facts about city stables. The couple’s horses had got their own, smaller stable just for themselves and the lord was clearly very proud that he was the only stable-owner who could give this special accommodation to the horses from the Red Keep. 

“But you, my lady, you are even more beautiful than people say!”

Had the man just jumped from the praise of horses to the praise of her? Sansa gave him another polite smile.

“I have to say, the original is truly the best,” he would probably never stop talking.

“The original?” Sansa didn’t understand.

“The Seven Kingdoms will be very fortunate to have such queen,” the man continued to compliment her. He seemed quite sweet, although Sansa had learnt that looks could be deceived. And this man’s face looked like it was perfectly chiselled by some splendid artist. His warm smile even created two little dimples in his cheeks. Very beautiful, a bit too beautiful. But he clearly loved animals, so he was hopefully a good person, too, not like Joffrey. It was nice to be reminded that there were still normal, decent people in the world, so why was Sandor’s expression getting grimmer? Sansa glanced at her husband. How enormous he looked next to the pretty lord! And so strong, too, like the Warrior. Nobody knew that he looked even more powerful without his clothing. Sansa remembered the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress and she felt a bit overheated all of a sudden. She should truly focus more on the lord’s words.

“…and if you ever need a new horse, or some other means of transport, I’m all yours,” the man kept offering her his services.

“Are you finished?” Sandor snapped at the poor lord.

“Of course, ser, I won’t keep you long, I only wanted to say…”

“I’m no ser,” Sandor thundered. 

Sansa turned to her husband in surprise. What was wrong with him? He looked furious, the corner of his mouth twitching. He was like some mythical beast, getting ready to tear the enemy apart. He always looked like a savage, even with the white cloak, but now it was so much worse. What did he have in mind? Sansa remembered his similarly wild expression of the previous night, when he’d brutally claimed her as his own. 

“We need to return to the Red Keep now,” Sandor suddenly announced harshly and grabbed Sansa’s arm, dragging her away from the lord. He shouldn’t do that in public, people would think that they… That he… it didn’t look proper, that’s it!

As soon as they were alone, Sansa pulled away from Sandor. “Why were you so rude to the lord?" she scolded her husband. "He was sweet!”

“Right, the pretty lords are all sweet and beautiful and every cunt gets wet for them, no matter how horrible they are,” Sandor marched over to the horses. “Did you know that pretty lord of yours wanted to kill Stranger, because he thought nobody could tame him?”

“What?” Sansa blinked. “What does it have to do with anything?”

“Just that he might not be as perfect as you think!”

“How would you know what I think about him?”

Sandor snorted bitterly. “I know you, girl, and I saw you blush prettily, didn't I? And I know exactly what he was thinking about, too.”

“What are you even talking about?” Sansa protested. She didn’t know what this was about, but she knew she was offended.

A stable boy entered the stable and Sandor shot him another hateful glance. “Fuck off!” he roared. “I’ll take care of the horses myself!” The boy was gone before Sandor even finished the sentence.

Sansa placed her hands on her hips, no matter how unladylike it was. Who did the Hound think he was, yelling at innocent people? “Could you calm down, Sandor?” she asked him firmly.

“Calm? How could I be calm? Nothing is bloody right, people should know about us. Everybody should know you’re mine.”

“Ah, so now you’re going to pee on me to mark your territory, is that it?”

Sandor’s mouth fell open. “What?”

“Just admit it, you’re jealous!” Sansa woofed at him.

Sandor’s mouth twitched as he stared into her eyes. A sneer twisted his face. “Fine, I’m jealous,” he bit out. “I’m happier than ever in this whole damn life, I have the greatest treasure in the world, and it’s bloody scary and I…”

“How could you ever be scared? Nobody can fight better than you.”

“Everybody is scared shitless, when they have too much to lose. It has nothing to do with fighting.”

“But why would you…”

“Because someone could hurt you!” he snarled. “Really hurt you. And with all this I could actually be making your life worse. Or it could be just you lusting after some pretty cunt like that horse-killing lordling, you realizing that being with me was a mistake and you want to leave.”

“Do you have such a low opinion of me?!”

“No, seven hells, no! I just know what I look like, what others look like, what… seven hells. This whole day I keep seeing one thing after another that could destroy everything for us. There are million things that can go wrong and I don’t know what to worry about more!”

“There’s also the possibility that nothing could go wrong.”

“Well, that’s never happened in my life.”

“Ah, never?” Sansa snapped at him. “Truly? What about last night? Or this morning? What went wrong for you when you made me your wife?”

Sandor shivered and wrapped his arm around her waist, roughly pulling her closer. “Mine.”

Talking to Sandor had never been easy. But now whenever Sansa merely mentioned their relationship, he stopped listening altogether, focusing on some silly trivialities. 

“You cannot keep expecting the worst to happen,” she tried to make him see reason. “You’re mine now and we have to make the future better than the past. Expecting the worst won’t help anything.”

“I am so bloody yours, girl, you have no idea,” he murmured against her skin.

Sandor wasn’t actually listening, he was nibbling at her collarbone again, trying to pull her dress down as much as possible. What a horrible beast he was, couldn’t he just listen? His hands were so huge and rough against her skin. Sansa pressed her legs together. It seemed that even annoyance created the same wetness between her legs as the fear had before. Sansa ignored it, though.

“No other man will touch you,” Sandor murmured.

That’s it, Sansa had enough. “No, but solely because that’s my choice,” she pushed him away. “This won’t work, Sandor, not unless you have some trust in me!”

“I do, Sansa, of course I do, you’re so damn good, I know that. But when a bugger looks like you like this one and you blush…”

“Then what? What do you expect me to do? Run into his arms, just because he has a pleasant face? Is that what you think of me? You think that I want to kiss a man just…”

Sandor growled at her! The audacity of the man, he had no right to be interrupting her, growling at her, she was a lady! She gave him the haughtiest of haughty looks, turned around and walked away from the argument with her head held high. She didn’t get to her horse, though, Sandor crushed her back against his chest. He lifted her skirts as if she just hadn’t made her opinion obvious. One loosened ribbon slid down her leg into the straw and her smallclothes soon followed. 

Was he now so possessive he wouldn’t even let her go to her horse? Argh, he was insufferable! “You can’t be jealous about everyone I meet,” Sansa struggled against his hold. “Or do you truly intend to insult me?” 

“No, I intend to fuck you, girl.”

“That’s not funny, Sandor! You should truly…”

Sansa’s words died on her lips. The man had pushed his huge finger into her, using his thumb to rub the bad, sensitive spot between her legs. 

“Sandor!” she whined.

“That’s right, girl, let them all hear,” he murmured against her ear. He was roughly curling his finger inside her, how could he do that to her?

“You’re crazy,” she sobbed.

“And you’re bloody wet for me. Your tight little cunt doesn’t care about pretty men, you know?”

“Sandor, there are people out there!”

“Good, let them hear you’re mine.”

Sansa’s whole body trembled, she melted into his arms. Sandor couldn’t do that to her, it wasn’t allowed, it wasn’t fair. He was ruthless, though, invading her mind again and making her body turn against her. She hated that she couldn’t control her own muscles as they tightened around his cruel finger, as if she’d wanted to trap him inside. She hated that she couldn’t control her sobs, her body shaking. Perhaps she’d just melt away, disappear, never have to face him again.

When her senses somewhat returned to her, Sansa couldn’t stand, but Sandor didn’t care, with his strength he probably hadn’t even registered that he was now carrying all her weight. He gave her only a moment of respite before resuming in the vicious act again, his fingers brutally digging into her sensitive flesh.

When Sandor pulled away, he turned her around as if she was just a little doll in his arms and he lifted his hand up, licking the wetness with a theatrical gusto. Sansa’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t! And to do that while he was holding her gaze! To be doing… To be enjoying…

“You… you…”

“Yes, I am your husband,” Sandor smirked.

“You!”

Sansa wanted to protest, she did, but Sandor hoisted her up back against the wall, and Sansa could barely breathe. She hadn’t even noticed when he’d released his manhood, but it was poking at her soaked opening. He was such a horrible, horrible beast. With the most despicable manhood in the world.

“Sandor, you… you…” Sansa squirmed.

“That’s right, girl,” he chuckled. “I’m yours,” he drove into her so hard she cried out. “All of me.”

Sansa wasn’t even lying on her back and he was doing this to her anyway. Sansa’s body was all raw from his previous assaults, it hurt. He shouldn’t be doing that to her, it was wrong, so wrong. Sansa dug her fingers into Sandor’s arms and locked her legs around his hips, arching her back to relieve some of the ache in her.

Sandor’s mouth covered hers and caught the breathy little moan that escaped. He was so huge, filling her in fast, brutal strokes and Sansa had to bite into his neck to muffle her own moans. Only then a strange movement caught her attention. Stranger! Stranger was starring straight at them, he knew what they were doing, she was sure he knew!

Sandor touched the spot between her legs again and Sansa stopped caring about anything. She could feel Sandor shuddering inside her, groaning, but all that mattered was that one finger tormenting her. It pressed against her in the most delicious, appalling way and made her body completely crumble.

She didn’t know how long they stayed in that odd embrace, how long he held her pinned against the wall. She had no idea how he eventually managed to put her smallclothes back on, she didn’t know how he secured her in the saddle. She didn’t know anything, her mind was somewhere far away. Sansa couldn’t possibly move herself. Or talk. Or do anything. She probably didn’t even have a single bone left in her body. Something horrible had happened to her and now she felt incredibly weak and dizzy. She wanted only to curl in Sandor’s arms now and just sleep, never to ride back to the Red Keep.

But when they did return to the Red Keep, Sandor was amazing, his annoyed growls pleased Joffrey immensely. The king even left Sansa alone as soon as she was finished with her meal. She’d needed that. She didn’t want to eat, she wanted to go back to her chamber and sleep. As a married woman she needed as much rest as possible, Sandor would surely be visiting her again soon, perhaps he’d give her a child this time. And she was so very tired. A proper married life wasn’t as easy as some naïve maidens thought.

“Well, hello, there,” a pleasant voice greeted her.

Sansa turned around in shock, expecting to see an insolent maid in her chamber. But there was someone else. A lady sitting in her chair, smiling. A woman with auburn hair. Sansa blinked. No, that was no lady. That’s the girl who had been flirting with her Sandor.

“Have you enjoyed your… day in the city?” the girl smiled provocatively. 

“What are you doing here?” Sansa replied in a cold, but very distinguished manner.

“Waiting for you, of course.”

“Why?” Sansa raised her brow. “And why here?”

“Well… I thought you might be missing something,” the girl announced with a dramatic pause.

Sansa wouldn’t entertain the girl’s silly notions. And she wouldn’t allow her to flirt with Sandor, either. Sandor was perhaps horrible and jealous and Sansa would need to teach him a lot, but he was hers and only hers.

The girl smiled again and held up a ribbon decorated with weirwood leaves.

Oh.


	9. Chapter 9

“I’ve always wondered about you and the Hound, you know,” the girl smiled.

Sansa sat herself down, straightening her skirt. “What is your name, my dear?” she asked gently.

“My name?” the uninvited guest laughed. “Well, people call me by many names. Do you know what I do for a living, my lady?”

“I’m sure I can use my imagination,” Sansa replied politely. 

“I’m sure your imagination won’t be enough,” the redhead retorted. “All the men here like to pretend I’m Lady Sansa, because all of them want to fuck Lady Sansa. Does that shock you?”

Sansa kept her face perfectly impassive. She had thought about the girl a bit more than she’d like to admit and she had already come to this conclusion herself. Although, she’d have used significantly less crude words to describe the girl’s work.

The girl chuckled. “They want Lady Sansa to fear them, to obey them, to scream in pain, or in pleasure, preferably both. Everybody wants to be Lady Sansa’s first, everybody wants to see her bleed. The more blood and pain there is, the better. A lot of blood makes a better maiden, you know? And a much better man, all the bleeding makes them feel bigger and more manly. And then there’s one man who wants sweet Lady Sansa to wear a crown and walk in hard shoes over his back and spank him with a whip.”

Sansa didn’t let any emotions show on her face, she kept the same calm expression. She wasn’t all alone with Sandor now, she couldn’t relax and say whatever came to her mind. She needed her armour here and she would not let the mask slip. She was a Stark of Winterfell, nobody would blackmail a wolf.

“Even the Imp, did you know that?” the girl laughed bitterly. “He has a permanent whore now, but he just couldn’t resist fucking Sansa Stark anyway, he said she drove him crazy with her beauty. He wanted Sansa Stark to admire his pretty cock and tell him that she wanted him to save her. He wanted Sansa Stark to beg on her knees. I’m sure that when the Imp’s father and brother come, they’ll want to fuck me, too. The only man in this castle who never thought of that me was our great king. And then, of course... his dog. I wonder why?”

“Why are you telling me that?”

The girl shrugged. “You've asked what’s my name. Well, usually people call me ‘Sansa’. Or ‘my lady’. Usually I’m just a ‘bitch’ to them, though.”

“I didn’t ask what men called you,” Sansa noted calmly.

The two redheads stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, neither of them wanting to break the contact. “My name is Katla,” the girl finally admitted.

Sansa smiled. “That’s a nice name.”

“I didn’t come here for your courtesies,” the woman bit out. “I have been with almost every man in this castle, but you have fucked the Hound in a dirty stable, my lady, we both know that. I wonder if the Houd wants a woman on all four like a bitch. Perhaps he even stuffs his cock in some special place to maintain your glorious virtue. Is that what you two do? And it’s not like he takes you against your will, is it?”

The girl wanted Sansa’s husband, it was obvious. Sandor was the greatest warrior in Westeros and the one man the girl couldn’t have. Katla would never get to touch the thing between his legs, no, she'd never know how hard and yet silky it was. Sandor had incredibly large, skilful hands, too, and Katla wouldn't get to know them, either. Sansa wasn’t sure why, but there was something very appealing about Sandor's hands. He had huge hands and enormous, muscled body that had pressed Sansa into mattress in the most shocking manner. And he could warg into a woman’s mind, too. He only had eyes for Sansa, though, the other redhead would have to accept that. How many silly girls had eagerly jumped into Sandor’s bed? Had he rejected them? Or had he entertained the indecent proposals? Sansa didn’t like the idea one bit, Sandor was married now, he’d have to forget about all the wanton women. He’d be sleeping in her bed every night, claiming her so often he wouldn’t even notice the existence of anybody else.

“You have indeed not come for courtesies,” Sansa smiled. “You have probably come for the money, haven’t you? “

“Jewellery will do, too.”

Sansa nodded. If the woman had wanted the highest reward, she would have gone to Cersei first. If anyone was associated with money, it was the Lannisters. But the beautiful redhead had made a different choice and that intrigued Sansa.

“Indeed, precious stones can be quite useful, sometimes more than money,” Sansa . But I know you’re smarter than that.”

“Ah, truly? You know me so well?” the redhead mocked Sansa.

“Everybody gives you money,” Sansa reminded the woman. “And since I arrived in the city, it has been a lot more. I’m no Cersei Lannister, I’m not covered in gold as people would assume. You have probably already got more than my jewellery is worth. But it’s still not enough, is it? It hasn’t given you the life you want. I can give you more than that.”

The girl stared at Sansa, then snorted and promptly hid the ribbon away. “Don’t you dare assume things about me,” she hissed. “I have a daughter, you know? A daughter! Just imagine, playing a maiden Sansa Stark every bloody day, being all shocked by every cock, all surprised that such a thing even existed, while I have a whole seven year old daughter waiting for me at home. Isn’t it fun?”

Sansa quietly observed the girl. She was so very, very young. With a seven year old daughter. The implication broke Sansa’s heart. She couldn’t hate this girl, even if she was trying to seduce Sandor.

“You need money for your daughter,” Sansa noted calmly.

“Money?” the redhead continued to laugh bitterly. “Money? You think I’d let that Trant monster to kick me if it was only about getting more money? You have no idea what you’re talking about, my lady.” Never has “my lady” sounded more condescending.

“Then enlighten me,” Sansa bid her.

“My daughter has…” Katla cleared her throat, looking surprisingly vulnerable. “Problems. With breathing. She needs a maester all the time, even coming anywhere near a the blossoms of dragonstone shrubs can suddenly make it impossible for her to breathe. She has nearly died because of that. Several times. I don’t want some stupid healer to treat her, she needs a real maester. I want the best maesters for my daughter and I had them. But now… I have displeased Ser Boros.”

“Displeased him?”

“Yes, displeased,” the girl repeated, the vulnerability quickly replaced with anger. “Even a bloody whore isn’t willing to do some things. And when I refused Boros my services, he got mad. Trant doesn’t want to help me, either. I can’t get a maester for my daughter here anymore. But you, you have more power than a white cloak.”

Had the situation been any different, Sansa would have perhaps been amused. Did anyone genuinely believe she had any power in Red Keep? And even more power than a white cloak? 

“You want me to ensure your daughter gets a proper treatment from a maester?” Sansa finally understood.

“Yes, I do. Just like it used to be. As long as I had the money and I was in good graces of the white cloaks, Maester Pycelle kept my daughter breathing. But your dirty little secret has a higher price than that, doesn’t it? You’ll pay Pycelle, too.”

“What if I don’t have the money to do that?”

“Well,” Katla smirked. “I’m sure your… friend does.”

Sansa smiled, quietly watching the angry girl in front of her, assessing the situation. She couldn’t blame a mother for trying to save her child at any cost, Lady Catelyn would kill just to protect her children. Sansa had always found comfort in that knowledge, now more than ever. But if the girl had problems with breathing related to flowers like some people did… perhaps there were some other solutions at hand.

“Your daughter has been treated by Maester Pycelle?” Sansa inquired.

“Oh, yes,” the girl chuckled. “A whore’s daughter is treated by the king’s maester, isn’t it poetic?”

“No,” Sansa replied calmly. “Just unwise.”

“What?” Katla now looked truly offended. “Ah, now you want to start telling me how I should take care of my daughter, is that it?”

Sansa shook her head. “Do you know that my brother has been badly injured? He’s fallen down from a tower, he shouldn’t have survived.”

Katla shrugged. “The Imp has mentioned that while fucking me. But somehow I don’t truly care about little lords, my lady. People have enough of their own problems, nobody really cares about you.”

Sansa bowed her head in agreement. “Has Lord Tyrion mentioned that my brother survived his injuries? He wouldn’t have survived here, all the southerners said he couldn’t. But my brother was in Winterfell, so he lived.”

“What does it have to do with me?”

“The idea that the Red Keep has the best maesters is just a myth. History has been telling a different story.”

That at least made Katla think for a moment. “So? What about it?”

“This is not a right place for a child,” Sansa tried to explain. “South in general is not a good place for anyone who has problems with breathing.”

“You want me to move me to North so that I don’t bother you?” Katla snorted. “Is that your great plan?”

Sansa decided to respond with another question. “Tell me, who has done your hair?”

“What?” Katla crinkled her beautiful face in puzzlement. “Me of course, what does it have to do with anything?”

“I simply believe that your current profession is not enough for a woman who understands dresses and hair like you.”

A flash of understanding appeared in Katla’s eyes. “You want me to be a maid?” she snorted. “You want me to clean your bed and take out your piss?”

“No. But I could use an observant friend.” Sansa couldn’t call it a maid, no, this woman was too proud for that. “A lady-in-waiting,” Sansa found a much better term.

There was only a short moment of silence. “I’m not a lady, unless you haven’t noticed.”

“Times are changing and there are more important things than lineage. I’m sure you can see the change. That’s why you came here, isn’t it?” Sansa continued, keeping her voice full of confidence, which she didn’t feel. “You didn’t take the ribbon and your story to the king.”

The girl raised her brows. “Perhaps I simply prefer getting my money without killing people in the process, has it occurred to you?”

“That also happens to be a quality I’d appreciate in my lady-in-waiting.”

Katla chuckled. “Aren’t ladies-in-waiting something only a queen has, anyway?” 

“What about it?” 

“It doesn’t seem like you’re planning on marrying our dear king.”

Sansa didn’t deny the accusation. “Not only queens have ladies-in-waiting, my mother has always wanted to have them, too.”

“But she was a wife of the Warden of the North,” Katla pointed out.

“Indeed.”

The girl narrowed her eyes, observing Sansa for a moment. “You’re not really going for a Clegane’s Keep, are you?”

“We’ll see what the future brings,” Sansa smiled cryptically.

Katla regarded her with suspicion. “Is it true that your father changed the laws in the north before he left for South? That now it’s the first-born who inherits his titles, no matter if it’s a boy, or girl?”

“My parents’ first born is a man, however,” Sansa pointed out.

“And if the Young Wolf takes the Iron Throne?” Katla asked quietly. 

Sansa sat a little straighter, keeping yet another question answered.

Katla nodded anyway. “What’s the Hound’s role in this? You think that if you suck his cock hard enough and get on all four for him, he’ll kill the king for you?”

The girl was truly obsessed with Sandor's thing. And Sansa didn’t like her tone at all. “I hope my lady-in-waiting would know better than to disrespect Sandor Clegane in my presence. Or anywhere else for that matter.”

“So you’re taking him north? Truly?” Katla laughed. “The Hound is a clever bugger, I have to give him that. And to think how many times I’ve teased the man about his secret little obsession. Did you know he has your hairnet hidden under his pillow?”

Sansa raised her brows. “I don’t think you should know what anyone has under their pillow in this castle.”

“Well…” the redhead grinned brazenly. “My wide range of knowledge might be useful when I’m your principal lady in waiting.”

“I like knowledge. But I like honour and honesty more, especially in people around me,” Sansa didn’t show any sign of emotions. “In all the people.”

“Honour? You mean the honour of your father? Or his older brother? Or someone else, who got killed, because their honesty and honour stopped them from getting the right information, or it stopped them from acting upon them?”

Sansa remained quiet.

“Alright,” the girl nodded. “The Hound won, I lost, I understand that. The bugger knew what he was doing after all, didn’t he?”

Sansa pursed her lips. The girl should change her tone when talking about Sandor, nobody was allowed to call Sansa’s husband a bu… a bad thing.

Katla’s eyes twinkled with mirth, and she provocatively licked her lips. Sansa was a happily married woman, if the girl thought the seductive methods would work on her, she was tragically mistaken. “I’ll remember not to underestimate him again,” Kadla yielded.

“Good,” Sansa appreciated. 

“And since I will be your principal lady-in-waiting, my daughter will become a lady-in-waiting, too, when she’s older, won’t she?”

Sansa was a wolf, married to the strongest man in the castle, a winner of a tourney. Nobody would be toying with her. “That depends on many things that are difficult to predict. You reliability and loyalty for one.”

“You mean you want the ribbon,” Katla giggled. “You know, I’d be more worried about Lord Melton. He’s the one with the interest in whips, you see. And I can assure you, he’ll do anything I tell him. The question is... What will I tell him?”

Sansa forced another expression of polite amusement. “The only question here is whether you accept my offer as it stands, or not.”

“And if not?” Katla provoked. “You’ll tell your pet Hound to kill me?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Sansa noted.

The girl licked her teeth and lips in a particularly vulgar way. “Fine,” she finally said. “I’ll give you my answer tomorrow. I’m keeping your precious ribbon until then, of couse, I have to think about my options.”

Sansa smiled. “Do you?”

“Yes, I don’t want to rush into anything, my lady,” Katla explained with a cheeky expression. “I’m too hungry, you know? When I’m hungry, I can’t think.”

Sansa nodded and took out two pieces of the cinnamon pastry that she’d discreetly hidden in the pockets under her skirt. She offered one piece to Katla.

“Shall we eat?” she asked politely. 

Katla’s eyes widened at the sight of the tasty offering, then she quietly laughed. She shook her head in disbelief. For a moment she stared at Sansa, then she took out the ribbon once again and hesitantly handed it to Sansa. “Very well,” she exchanged the ribbon for a bit of deliciousness. “I'll work for you.”

“I know," Sansa took a graceful bite of her pastry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone interested in lemon cakes, direwolves and Sandor's thing, I'd strongly recommend joining SanSan discord!  
https://discord.gg/DWgYzne


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I had to split a chapter in two, sorry about that.

As soon as Sansa heard the quiet knock on her door, she felt much calmer. Sandor was there! They’d have to change their secret knock, though, Katla would undoubtedly remember this one now.

“Come in, Sandor.”

Sandor stepped in with a happy expression and a little package in his hand, but his smile froze on his lips when he noticed Katla. He put the package down on the table and straightened his back, silently glaring at Katla.

“How nice to see you, big man!” Katla smiled provocatively.

Sandor clenched his teeth and immediately stepped towards Sansa, shielding her from Katla. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he snarled at the poor girl hatefully.

Katla didn’t let that scare her. “Talking with your dear friend?”

“I think I’ve told you something!”

“Ah, yes, you have told me lots of things. Especially that one time you threw up, what was it you kept repeating?”

“Will you shut up?” Sandor snarled in the most hateful way.

“Ah, right, that’s what you said!” Katla giggled. “After you cried about the pretty bird touching your shoulder, of course. Tell me, has she touched more?”

Sandor grabbed the pommel of his sword. “I think I’ve told you what I think about blackmailers. What I do about them.”

“Indeed, you’ve told me many times,” Katla didn’t back down at all. “And yet you’ve done nothing of the sort. For a man who likes to talk about killing women, you’re truly all just bark, aren’t you?”

“We’ll see about that,” Sandor rasped, stepping towards Katla.

“Sandor!” Sansa unsuccessfully tried to push the giant away as she stepped between him and Katla.

“You have nothing to fear, little bird,” Sandor assured her tenderly, trying to shield her with his body again. 

Sansa would not allow it. “Katla is my friend, Sandor!”

“What?” Sandor gasped, finally freezing in spot.

“Friend,” Katla repeated mockingly. “I’m a friend of Sansa Stark, didn’t you know?”

Sandor ignored Katla completely, going as far as taking Sansa’s hand in front of the woman. “Little bird, whatever she told you, it’s a lie! This person has been exploiting your fame and beauty since you came to King’s Landing. She lets people call her by your name, she gets paid for pretending to be you in bed!” 

“I know, Sandor. And I think Katla has been very brave.”

“Brave?” Sandor laughed bitterly. “Brave? She’s only encouraging men to think about you in the worst ways possible!” he was genuinely furious about it. “You have no idea how all the fuckers in this bloody castle talk about you, what they think.”

“I don’t think I need to know.”

“Well, she’s making everything much worse! You’ve been here for a while, men could have moved on to someone else already, but she encourages them to focus on you all the time. She encourages people see you as a toy, because she profits off it!”

“And yet she has not betrayed our secret,” Sansa pointed up.

“Secret?” Sandor scowled.

“You were a little careless, you know?” Katla sniggered. “You were so busy shagging the king's future wife you forgot her ribbon in the stable of Lord Melton.”

Sandor let go of Sansa’s hand immediately, charging against Katla. For a moment Sansa thought he’d truly hit the girl, or perhaps do something worse. Katla stood still, though, hiding any fear behind a mocking smirk, while Sandor was fuming. “Don’t you…” Sandor couldn’t even find words for all the rage. “Don’t you ever dare! Don’t…”

“Sandor, calm down. I’m sure Katla will learn some manners soon if she wants to be a lady,” Sansa noted calmly. “The sooner the better,” she gave Katla a cold smile. Sansa was willing to give the girl a chance, everyone deserved a chance. It wasn’t Katla’s fault she’d been born in worse circumstances than Sansa. But Sandor was right, disrespect would not be tolerated in the Clegane household.

“What?” Sandor’s mouth twitched. “She’s not a lady, little bird, she’s a leach, leaching off your name.”

“That is in the past. Katla has agreed to work for me.”

“Do you seriously believe that? This wench has broken into my room, little bird, and when I caught her, she…” Sandor stammered. “She didn’t want to leave!”

Katla rolled her eyes. “It was an act, alright?” she responded in a bored tone. “You caught me, fine. I had to do something. Or did you think I started undressing because I couldn’t resist your pretty face?”

“Well, your act didn’t work,” Sandor snarled. “And it won’t work now, either.”

“You genuinely think it didn’t work?” Katla laughed melodiously. “Oh, honey, you threw me out, panicking like a little green boy. It worked, don’t you understand? It was the best outcome I could have hoped for. Had I not done anything, you would have questioned me much more, you would have wondered what I found in your room. As it is, you just wanted to get me out.”

Sansa didn’t like the direction of this conversation one bit. Did women come to Sandor’s room often? Did they all just drop their clothes in Sandor’s presence? It perhaps shouldn’t have surprised Sansa, but she hadn’t fully grasped before how far women were willing to go to lure Sandor into their bed. Or even worse, his own bed! His bed probably smelled like him, he had the most captivating scent, it always made Sansa feel safe. Sansa was the one who should be sleeping in Sandor’s bed, but no, Sandor’s wife had never even been to his room, she had no idea where it was, or how she could locate it. All the while other women were breaking into Sandor’s room, getting naked there, throwing themselves at the warrior. Of course, Sandor was the winner of the Tourney, the greatest swordsman, Sansa should have expected him to have such admirers. And yet, it was a rather unpleasant realization.

Sandor meanwhile fisted his hand. “There’s no secret you could have discovered in my room,” he spat.

“Ah, truly? Want to bet?” Katla mockingly raised her brows. “Have you told Lady Sansa about your… artistic endeavours?”

“Will you shut up?!” Sandor growled.

“I thought there were no secrets,” Katla snorted in a very unladylike manner. “You see, dog, you’re not as clever about hiding things as you think,” she noted. “Nobody in this castle is. And I have valuable knowledge about everyone.”

“Oh, is that supposed to inspire trust?”

“Yes, because I’m willing to give all that knowledge to Lady Sansa,” Katla finally talked in a bit more proper tone.

“Your usual act may work on others, wench, but it won’t work here,” Sandor growled.

“My usual act? It may come as a surprise to you, honey, but I didn’t try to suck anybody’s cock in this room.” Well. There were still some elements in Katla’s speech that could be ladified. “Besides,” Katla continued. “You should be grateful that I helped you when you were drunk. Do you think it would be better if you had whined about Lady Sansa’s teats to one of the queen’s spies?”

Now it was Sansa who stood between Katla and Sandor. Sandor looked like he might just spontaneously combust from the sheer anger.

“And for whom do you spy?” he growled menacingly.

“For Lady Sansa, it seems,” Katla shrugged. “I may not be doing it out of the goodness of my heart, or because she touched my shoulder and spreads her legs for me, but my service is honest.”

“Honest?” Sandor sneered. “What exactly is supposed to be honest about someone who breaks into other people’s private chambers? Who spies on others? What is honest about someone who encourages violent bastards to view the most innocent lady as a toy?”

Katla rolled her eyes. “I do what I am paid for and I’m loyal. If that is honest enough about you, it’s honest about me as well.”

“Ah, truly? And why would you be loyal to Lady Sansa?”

“Because she won’t treat me as a whore,” Katla responded simply. It sounded like the most sincere thing she'd said so far.

Sandor snorted. “That’s it? That’s your explanation?”

Katla only mirrored his annoyed expression. “The previous king treated me as a whore. The Lannisters treat me as a whore. The Spider has no interest in my body, but he still wants to use me as a whore to get to some secrets. I thought I could work for Littlefinger, I thought if I came to him with enough to offer, with some big secret from the Red Keep, he’d give me a position and a decent life. But now I know that whatever I do, he’ll want me to stay a whore forever. One way or another.”

Sandor clenched his teeth. “I don’t give a rat’s arse about how people treat you, your actions are harmful to my…” he stopped himself. “To Lady Sansa!”

“Do you truly think that White Cloaks with hard cocks and heads full of unfulfilled fantasies would be safer for her?” Katla retorted. “Lady Sansa is the only one who treats me as a person. And as long as she does that, I will be loyal. I’ve never tried selling your secrets, dog, and you know that. Even when you didn’t give me what I wanted, I never shared anything about you.”

“You knew I’d kill you,” Sandor rasped. “And that’s not enough to trust you.”

“Ah, really? Just because I don’t have a huge cock, I don’t deserve trust? I’ve never caused harm to another being, dear Hound. You have. You kill for money. If I have ever hurt anyone for money, it was me. Only me. And yet you expect the lady to give you a chance, but distrust me?”

Sandor opened his mouth to say something, but Sansa had had enough of their argument. “Enough. I trust her, Sandor.”

That seemed to stun Sandor. “Seven hells, little bird…”

Sansa didn’t let him speak, she’s heard enough. “And I think it’s time for our friend to go now, these matters will be better discussed in the morning.”

“Fine by me,” Katla nodded.

“Very well,” Sansa forced a polite smile on her face. She might have been slightly displeased by Katla’s remarks, but she wouldn’t let that show. “I’m sure you will be able to find me in the morning, so that we can talk further.”

“I will,” Katla nodded. “Good night, my lady,” she curtsied respectfully only to give a wink to Sandor. “Sweet dreams, dog!”

Sandor’s only response was a snarl. Katla finally left and Sandor went to check if she wasn’t listening behind the door. When Sandor was satisfied that the blackmailer was gone, he returned to Sansa, embracing her rather unexpectedly. “How do you feel, little bird?”

Sansa pressed her face against his chest. “Good,” she murmured happily. Sandor always gave the best hugs. It was nothing like hugging anyone else. 

“You didn’t mean what you said, did you? You don’t truly believe that wench will work for you?”

“I believe it’s very likely she will.”

Sandor pulled away, scowling. “Sansa, that woman is dangerous, you can’t trust her.”

“I know,” Sansa admitted. “But Katla won’t get a better offer and she knows it.”

Sandor shook his head. “You think she wants to be a lady so bad? You think your brother will make a lady out of a whore?”

“She wants a good life for her and her daughter.”

“Ah, the sick girl again? She told me it's her sister. I knew there was another lie in it.”

Sansa nodded. “A daughter wouldn't be all that attractive to men, to keep the illusion she had to pose as a sister. I don’t know how much I can trust Katla,” she confessed. “But she knows enough to be both dangerous and useful. I’d much rather make her the latter. And I know that she did not lie when she spoke about her daughter and her own position here getting more difficult. We may need Katla just like she may need us. I know that, she knows that. There have been great alliances made on lesser foundations.”

Sandor sighed. “I can’t stand that wench, Sansa,” he revealed. “You don’t know how men talk about you, how she provokes them to think about you in the worst ways possible. You don’t know what that cunt Boros says about you, but I do. And I can’t… I can’t trust a woman like that.”

Sansa smiled and kissed Sandor, taking his face in her hands, caressing it. “Boros Blount can say whatever he wants, my love, I know that my husband will keep me safe.”

Sandor’s expression immediately softened and he returned her kisses. “It’s not that simple. I’m sorry I failed you, little bird, I thought I was good at keeping our relationship a secret.”

“You haven’t failed me at all,” Sansa assured him. Right now she didn’t want to think about secrets and dangers, she had other things on her mind. Women kept breaking into Sandor’s room, trying to seduce him everywhere. Well, too bad, tonight he’d be in her room, in her bed. Sansa gently stroked the man’s scarred cheek. “I’m so happy you resisted her charms, Sandor,” she whispered.

Sandor straightened up just when Sansa was about to give him a very nice kiss. “Charms?” he rasped. “Seven hells, girl, she can be dangerous to you. We can’t underestimate…” Sandor’s voice hitched as Sansa placed a kiss on his throat, making her way up. He was breathing hard, trembling.

Sansa rose to the tips of her toes. “You were saying?” Sansa grasped his ear between her teeth, tugging at it gently.

“Bloody hells.”

“Hmm?” Sansa entwined her fingers in his hair.

“Sansa,” he groaned. “This is serious.”

“Indeed, I am very serious,” Sansa whispered into his ear before flicking it lightly with the tip of her tongue.

“Sansa,” his voice grew husky. His arms slipped around her waist, holding her close, crushing her soft breasts against his hard muscles. His tongue found hers and his lips were insistent. He was kissing Sansa deeper, wanting more.

“No, Sandor, no!” she scolded him, pushing him away.

“What?” he grunted.

“My hair first! My maids have a free evening, would you be so kind and help me comb out my hair?”

“What? I…” Sandor swallowed, dumbfounded. “I can?”

“You must, I can’t sleep like this.” Sansa sat herself down in front of the mirror and handed Sandor a brush. He stared into her hair, transfixed. “Please?” Sansa bid him.

Sandor hesitantly took to the task, taking a moment to figure out how Sansa’s updo had been created. Only then he started carefully pulling out the precious little bird pins he’d gifted her. And he finally admired one of Sansa’s ribbons, too. “You’ve made this, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have.”

Sandor smiled, tenderly taking her updo apart. “So talented,” he murmured, more to himself than to Sansa. “My little artist.”

Sansa glanced into the mirror, observing Sandor’s focused expression. He looked so sweet like this. And Sansa was indeed an artist, wasn’t she? Once again, she contemplated the future of the House Clegane. Gregor had unfortunately completely ruined the family reputation, but there was no way he’d survive this war. It would then be on Sansa and Sandor to completely transform House Clegane. They’d bring back the values of Sandor’s beloved grandparents and the kindness of his mother. And House Clegane would become a northern house soon, so it was crucial to stress the ties to the Starks. Sansa hoped Robb would help with that. 

Sansa would also become a patron of many artists, without doubt they’d be happy to sing her own songs. Sandor himself thought Sansa was talented, so why couldn’t she write songs about Sandor and the great tale of their love? Sansa would make sure to mention many times that Sandor looked like the perfect northerner, commonfolk needed to get used to the idea of Sandor belonging there. And Sansa decided that the new Clegane sigil should be a black dog facing a grey wolf, perhaps even touching it, symbolizing their love, unity and strength. They’d keep the yellow field, it wasn’t a common colour among northern houses, so it would help Sansa’s family stand out while honouring Sandor’s southern ancestry. Sansa would make the sigil herself. Sandor was at awe with her skills after all and he’d seen the most splendid art in the world.

Sansa’s hair finally fell softly down on her shoulders and Sandor placed an impulsive little kiss into it. Sansa smiled into the mirror. Her huge, terrifying husband had been once again turned into a delighted little boy, mesmerized by her hair, clearly loving his new task even more than she’d anticipated. And it was so good! His fingers felt wonderful in her hair. He even gently massaged Sansa’s head, sending tingling sensations all over her body. He then proceeded to brush her hair out, looking even more focused than when he was fighting.

Sansa felt so relaxed and sleepy, she was truly ready for bed. She could just snuggle in Sandor’s strong arms and sleep as long as she could, she’d… No, Sandor’s panting suggested he didn’t feel quite the same. He was having some impure thoughts again, wasn’t he? That was just like him. When he was finished, however, he knelt down at Sansa’s side and nuzzled his face against her skin. “Little bird,” he sighed happily, adding nothing sinful this time.

Sansa giggled and playfully kissed his nose. Even his nose was big. And hooked. It was not an elegant nose, but it suited Sandor. Sansa decided to kiss him a bit more, this time on the lips. He immediately clasped her face in his hands and deepened the kiss. He still didn’t kiss properly like a knight, his lips were too firm and insistent, his tongue touching hers, but Sansa couldn’t help but mimic his movements anyway. She was a good wife. And she loved how Sandor looked at her after every such kiss. Sandor was hers and he should always remember that. He did seem to remember well enough, because he started untying her laces all the while he was still kissing her.

Sansa now knew exactly what Sandor would do to her in bed, she wasn’t surprised by his behaviour at all. What was however confusing was that he stopped after taking off only a few pieces of her dress. Instead of undressing her completely, he just stood up and walked away to the other room. Did he always have to confuse her? Was he doing that on purpose? Sansa heard sounds of fire being made and water splashing. Had he been so dirty he’d needed to clean himself now? Or did he… was he… did he have to make water? While visiting her? Sansa picked up a fan, hoping a bit of colder air would stop the silly blushing. There was nothing wrong about Sandor’s actions, she understood he had no choice. But still, it was so odd knowing what he was doing. Sansa imagined Sandor standing with his huge thing in his massive hand doing… things. The manly way. Right there, in the other room. It was truly shocking that he’d just leave without another word, but he’d probably been in a hurry. That sometimes happened to Sansa, too, although she was always perfectly discreet about it. She had made water last night, too, when Sandor had been present, but she’d of course carefully chosen a moment when Sandor was asleep, so that he wouldn’t know she ever did such things. Marital life would be difficult in this regard. It was humiliating enough that Sandor now knew about the wetness fear created between her legs, Sansa wouldn’t allow him to learn about other unpleasant aspects of a woman’s body, too. It would require a lot of planning, but Sansa could do it, she was sure.

It sounded as if Sandor was heating up water, though, why would he do that? Did he leave her to… take a bath? Now? Sansa wanted to call after him, but she luckily stopped herself. She was a lady, she’d never show impatience. She was a lady and she wouldn’t mention his odd actions in the other room at all. When he finally returned to her, she only gave him the most innocent smile. He’d somehow lost several pieces of his clothing on the way, he was now only wearing breaches and a shirt.

“Still dressed, little bird?” Sandor smirked and caressed her cheek, before he bent down to continue undressing her, as if nothing had happened. She felt his hot breath on her skin, his hands methodically removing her clothes as if he'd learnt it just by watching her before. He took off her undersleeves and skirt, but then he froze.

“What the…” he grumbled.

“It’s just pastry.”

“It is pastry!” Sandor agreed, staring at it as if he’d never seen food before. “What’s pastry doing in your skirt?”

Sansa could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, but she tried to be very nonchalant anyway. “I get hungry at night.”

“Well, that’s…” Sandor frowned. “Not an explanation,” he found even the well-hidden pie in the smallest pocket and observed it with utmost fascination.

“I wasn’t hungry at the dinner, after we’d…” Sansa cleared her throat. “Well, I wasn’t hungry, so I took some pastry with me.”

“In the skirt.”

“Yes, that’s what I do. I mean… sometimes. Sometimes I do it.” 

“Sometimes meaning every night?” Sandor translated cheekily. 

Sansa pursed her lips, not willing to dignify that with a response.

Sandor grinned. “My hungry little wolf,” he bent down, nibbling at her jaw, “my wicked little bird.”

“I’m not wicked!”

“No? Did your septa teach you to smuggle pies around the castle?” Sandor teased her, stripping her of another layer of clothing.

“She didn’t forbid it!”

“Ah, so she never caught you. My wife is a talented little smuggler, I should have known,” Sandor placed open mouth kisses down her throat, while promptly removing her stays. Since when could he remove her clothes so fast? Sansa’s chemise ended on the floor within a moment and Sansa demurely covered her breasts. It only amused Sandor, though and he scooped her up, carrying her to the other room.

Sansa finally understood what he intended and she pushed against his chest. “Sandor, I can’t take a bath now!”

“Why not?”

“There are no maids to prepare it, it’s night and it’s… it’s…”

“You have a husband to make baths for you now.”

“But…” Sansa looked at him in confusion. “You can’t! That’s what maids do! They’re the ones who wash me, they know how to do it.”

Sandor growled at her! “I don’t particularly want to imagine anyone else touching my wife, girl,” he lowered her into the bath gently and poured more water in.

He couldn’t possibly mean to do the maid’s work! Sandor wasn’t japing, though, he kneeled down next to the bathtub and picked up a washcloth. He didn’t put any herbs in the water however, no oils or perfumes, nothing. It was just water. Plain water. There were not even rose petals. Sansa pursed her lips. This wasn’t how baths worked!


	11. Chapter 11

Sandor was doing this whole bathing thing so, so wrong! Sansa didn’t know what to think, it was too awkward. Sandor shouldn’t even be washing her, he wasn’t a maid. Sansa intended to take a bath in the morning, with lots of oils, herbs and flowers, as it should be. What was such an empty bath good for anyway? Although, Sandor had made the water exactly as hot as Sansa liked it, she had to give him that. She sometimes felt as if her maids wanted to cook her alive in the bath. When he realized her hair was in the way, he even started braiding it. Did all the knights know how to style women’s hair? Sandor had already seen Sansa’s night-time braid, of course. Sansa blushed, remembering the previous night. Her braid hadn’t lasted for long last night because of Sandor’s attentions, but tonight it was him making one. Sandor used a cord from his own shirt to tie the braid and secure it on Sansa’s head. Impressive, Sansa had to admit. She shook her head. Nothing was pulling at her hair, everything was nice and comfortable, yet very secure. Was the hairstyle pretty? It felt pretty. 

Sandor ran his fingers down the back of her neck, then placed a kiss there, too, his hands sliding lower. Sansa froze the moment the washcloth touched her back. It was so strange. Different. Sandor’s movements were slow and calming, much more delicate than when maids washed Sansa. It was quite surprising for such a harsh man. His lips touched her skin before he washed it and he was so tender, so loving, making her ache for more. Sansa shivered. Sandor took a bit of soap, rubbing it gently over her skin and even when he lifted her arm to wash it, he pressed small kiss into her palm.

When Sandor finally turned his attention to her breasts, he was far too gentle and Sansa had to push herself against him, seeking more. Wouldn’t Sandor bite her at all today? All his ravenous behaviour the previous night, the nibbling at her skin, the sounds, the obscene licking, it had all been horrifying. But Sansa understood now that such a monster of a man simply had those needs, he needed her to keep his strength. She’d noticed the effect she’d had on the man. Since he’d claimed her as his wife, he somehow looked even taller, even stronger, as if his vigour knew no limits now. Sansa hadn’t realized how tired he’d looked before, his eyes always clouded as if he’d drunk too much the night before. There had been the air of bitterness and anger about him, as well as sad resignation. Today he was a changed man, though. He looked completely invincible. And it was all Sansa’s doing. Sansa was a good wife, she’d bravely endured his savage attentions. And she’d yield to him again to help him keep his strength. How could she let him know that he didn’t need to control himself, that she understood now? 

Sandor released her nipple and chuckled. “Such an eager little bird,” his husky voice next to her ear sent another wave of shivers down her spine. “There’s no hurry tonight, girl, let me just admire you for a moment.”

Sansa frowned. What did that mean? Would he not ravish her? Or perhaps he would, he just wanted to trick her into thinking she was safe from him tonight. And then he’d suddenly turn back to his savage ways, relishing in her shock. Typical. Sansa luckily wasn’t some naïve maiden, she knew better than that. She trembled in fear under his gentle touch, not falling for the deception. Even if he was gentle now, he was still scary with his huge hands that could easily crush her like a little bird.

And his hands were getting lower and lower, carefully washing her tummy. Sansa was sure he’d soon touch her in the bad place, she knew he’d be cruel again. But he instead stood up and walked around the tub to lift her leg up to wash it. He even kissed her foot, his eyes never leaving hers! And he continued in his kisses, his mouth slowly moving up to her knee, before he repeated the whole torment on the other leg. He’d touch her between her legs soon, she was sure he’d do that. Sandor didn’t have any manners like Sansa’s maids, they always let her wash some parts discreetly on her own, but there was nothing discreet about Sandor. 

And sure enough, he kneeled down again next to the tub and his hand slid down between her thighs, washing her… everywhere. Truly everywhere. Sansa moaned as his fingers slipped between her folds, but he held her in place, not allowing her to pull away from him. He’d violate her soon, she knew, he’d be very cruel. He managed to turn even simple washing into something utterly indecent. When he kissed her cheek, she could feel the smile on his lips even without looking at him. He was washing her breasts for the third time now, kneading them in his hands. That really was quite excessive for such a clean part of her body. When Sansa chanced a glance at Sandor, he looked rather too satisfied with himself. As if he was doing something very clever. 

Sansa pursed her lips. “And I won’t get to wash you?” she challenged him.

Just as she’d expected, Sandor was stunned by such question. Sansa could shock a giant, yes. She could play this game, too. His hand trembled as he stared at her in disbelief. But when he suddenly sprang to action, he was astonishingly fast. Before Sansa even realized why he was standing up, he’d already taken off his shirt and kicked off his breeches. He climbed into the bathtub opposite to Sansa. 

Water splashed around them, but fortunately the bathtub was truly big, big enough even for Sandor. And then the monster froze again. He gave Sansa a shy little smile, clearly not quite sure of himself. Sansa was taken aback by that eager reaction, but then she realized what it meant and she beamed at Sandor, delighted. How much he trusted her! He wanted Sansa to wash him. She knew how demanding knights were of their squires, how much work it took to keep knights’ bodies healthy and ready for fight. And Sandor was the winner of the Tourney, with so many muscles he probably needed more care than anyone else. But even if she didn’t know how to take care of a warrior, he still wanted her to do it. He trusted her with something so important. She was sure he didn’t want other women to wash him, no, Sandor wanted only her to do it. Sansa smiled and tried to stand up and get out of the bath, so that she could take care of Sandor as he’d done before. But he stopped her, bringing her closer instead. 

“No, stay here,” he murmured and sat her down on his lap, so they were face to face. She was sitting on him now! With her legs… legs spread in the most improper manner. And there was his manhood between them. As Sandor brought her closer, his manhood touched her body and Sansa shivered. He meant to ravish her in the bathtub! 

“Well?” Sandor smirked, brushing stray hair off her face. “You wanted something,” he handed her a washing cloth. 

Sansa was blushing, even she could see the blush spread down her breasts. And she couldn’t cover them with her hair, Sandor had made sure of that. And now his gaze was turning even more predatory. He even saw her glance at his manhood. It wasn’t her fault that she’d looked! The thing was so big and hard, it was impossible to ignore. Why didn’t he just claim her right now and be done with it, without teasing her cruelly?

Sansa wriggled a little to find a more comfortable position. When Sandor groaned, though, she quickly stopped. She hadn’t meant to provoke him! It simply wasn’t very comfortable, sitting like this. What if he’d push the thing inside her while she was straddling him? Was it possible?

“You can wash my cock first, if you want,” Sandor suggested.

“No!” Sansa quickly looked up. “No, no, I…” she picked up the washcloth. “No,” she started washing his chest. Sandor laid back comfortably, watching her with a mix of amusement and arousal. Couldn’t he close his eyes? It was so embarrassing, washing him while he was looking. Sansa had glanced away when he’d been washing her, too! Well, most of the time.

Sansa gave him a scolding look. She picked up a soft face cloth and lifted it up to his cheek. Sandor’s cockiness was gone immediately, and he swallowed nervously. Oh. Sansa had wanted to teach him a lesson, but she hadn’t intended to make him so very anxious. Sandor should never feel bad about his looks! When she carefully started washing his face, she gave him a loving smile and caressed his hair. His scars were a proof of his strength and tenacity, there was nothing to be ashamed of. She placed soft kisses on his forehead, his cheek, his nose, until their lips connected again. The tension seeped out of Sandor’s body and his expression softened in relief. Sansa liked the way he smiled, there was something pure and honest about it. His smile was an escape from all the falsehood of the court.

Sansa continued, washing his hands, marvelling at their size. She carefully untied the ribbon on his wrist and they exchanged knowing smiles. Nothing needed to be said. Sandor was hers, wearing her favour with pride. Sansa carefully rubbed soap under his arms. Sandor truly had the most magnificent arms. They were the biggest, the strongest arms. Well, perhaps Gregor was bigger and stronger, but everything about Gregor was ugly, so it didn’t count. Sandor’s body was meanwhile glorious and that was indisputable. Even if it was glorious in a rather scary way. Sansa imagined that this was what wildling art looked like. All raw strength and power, with complete disregard for gentle comeliness. 

Sandor’s skin was glistening all over with tiny droplets of water that only highlighted each muscle, each vein. Sansa didn’t mind that his arms were covered in large, protruding veins, she enjoyed tracing them. She’d even got used to all the hair that was covering his arms and chest. And stomach, too, it was fascinating to wash his stomach, feel the strong muscles quiver under her delicate hands. Sansa washed his chest once more. Unlike her, Sandor had a lot of hair there, so it was reasonable. He needed to be cleaned properly. She smiled as his heart pounded under her palm. Even his heart was powerful. Sansa lowered her head, placing an innocent little kiss on his chest. Sandor let out a throaty groan, emboldening her further. With her teeth, she gently tugged at his flat nipple. It was only fair after all he’d done to her and Sansa felt a little victorious, when Sandor trembled helplessly.

Sansa had run out of things to wash and Sandor’s manhood was still hard between them, still demanding attention. Sansa bit her lip, watching it disapprovingly, willing the thing to lie down and stop threatening her. She truly had no choice but to clean it. She could do it, couldn’t she? Sandor was making the thing so hard on purpose, it amused him to scare her like that. But Sansa was a wolf, she could do that. With determination she took more soap, mustered all her courage and wrapped her hands around Sandor’s manhood. Sandor mercifully didn’t groan this time, he only let out a strangled breath.

Sandor’s manhood was covered with huge veins, too. Why was he so veiny? But Sansa took care to wash every bit of him. There were lots of bits. Sansa hesitated for a moment, but then she used the soap also on the… the… the things under his thing, tracing the line of each. Sandor took in a sharp breath and sat up, wrapping his arms around Sansa. He burying his face in her hair, breathing hard. Sansa froze, unsure of what Sandor wanted. 

“Go on,” he rasped, running his hands over her back. “Go on, little bird, touch me. Do whatever you want.”

And how exactly was she supposed to do that? He’d trapped her arms between their bodies as he was pressing himself against her. Sansa couldn’t even see his manhood anymore! Not that she wanted to, it was just… well… how was she supposed to clean him? Sansa let out a frustrated sigh and squeezed his manhood in revenge, rubbing it clean without any gentleness. She could be cruel, too. That’s what he’d get for misbehaving. 

“Fuck,” he grunted loudly. “That’s it, girl, seven hells, that’s it. You’re so bloody good,” he trembled. “You really love it, don’t you?” he pressed open-mouth kisses on her shoulder. “Sansa Stark loves my cock.”

He was oddly fixated on his overgrown body parts. Sansa didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but if anything, she liked Sandor’s eyes and hands the most. His shoulders were nice, too, so wide and manly, and his back was quite captivating as well. So very strong. And then there was his muscled behind, of course, which was especially… well, anyway, it were the eyes. The eyes were Sandor’s best feature, the one Sansa loved. She didn’t pay much attention to the rest, she wasn’t a man to be paying attention to someone’s body. Sandor’s favourite part of his own body wasn’t exactly the comeliest thing. And it wasn’t delicate, either, Sansa had no idea how it had ever fit inside her body. With some ancient magic, probably, Sandor had many secret skills. Sansa wrapped her fingers around the thing, cleaning it once more for a good measure, taking special care of the huge, rounded tip, eliciting more groans from the man. Sansa felt so powerful, having such effect on the man. No swordsman, no enemy could make Sandor melt under their touch, only Sansa could do that.

Sandor pulled away from her only to grab her face in both hands and kiss her fiercely. Just when Sansa expected him to brutally thrust his manhood into her, he stood up, simultaneously helping Sansa on her feet. He lifted the heavy bucket using one arm as if it weighed nothing, and gently poured warm water over both them to wash everything off once more. His manhood was still there, pointing at Sansa. Sandor ignored it though and took Sansa in his arms, stepping out of the bathtub, carrying her away. Sansa didn’t understand that. Wouldn’t he take her in the bath? All that touching, those kisses, his muscled body glistening… and it would lead to nothing? But Sandor lay Sansa down in the bed and started kissing the droplets off her body.

It was horrible. Sandor was tormenting Sansa with slow, gentle caresses that left her squirming. She felt so empty and confused by her own mind. Sandor was doing his warging tricks on her again. He was making her want things that she’d otherwise never even think of. But he didn’t claim her, no, instead he spent long time kissing her stomach and thighs. And what was he whispering about beauty? He still hadn’t complimented her exquisite, dainty hands, so why was he praising her legs? There was nothing beautiful about anybody’s thighs, he was so ridiculous. No other man had ever seen Sansa’s legs to this extent, and she was still quite embarrassed about letting something so impure and ugly be seen. He shouldn’t be commenting about such things. Didn’t he see her hands? Her delicate wrists? Her swanlike neck? No, he didn’t, of course, because he chose to nuzzle his face between her thighs instead. “Such a pretty cunt,” he murmured happily. Ugh, it was so embarrassing to have someone see her… there. And he was touching her with his tongue! And lips. And fingers. And everything all at once. It was all so disgusting, so unclean. Sansa gasped in sheer horror, arching her back, but Sandor didn’t stop when her moans grew louder, he didn’t take pity upon her when her body convulsed uncontrollably. He was shamelessly warging into her and he took pleasure out of it.

When Sandor straightened and moved to look into Sansa’s eyes, she thought he was finally about to claim her. He had to do that, he’d left her feeling so empty, he had to fill her now with his manhood. But no, Sandor instead took the cord out of her hair, loosening up the braid again. He meticulously spread the hair around her face and when he was finished, an enthralled smile brightened his monstrous face. “My own little fire,” he whispered to himself.

“Don’t say that!” Sansa frowned. He hated fire!

He only chuckled. “Why not? Fire is good when it’s all warmth like you,” he nuzzled his face into her hair. “And there’s so much fire in you, little bird, even if you want to pretend otherwise. I wish you didn’t pretend with me. You’re a survivor, nobody managed to break your kind spirit, do you have any idea how much you inspire me?”

Sansa didn’t understand. This wasn’t a moment for declarations, didn’t he want to claim her? Besides, ladies were always likened to pretty flowers, not natural forces.

“You’re a fiery little lady, too, and I’m the only one who knows that,” he smirked roguishly. 

He was so rude! Sansa was delicate and docile and all the right things, how could he say something so awful about her? “You don’t know anything.”

“Really?” he chuckled. “I know you like to shag a lot, girl. And you like it hard, too. You don’t want pretty, you want muscles and you want to be a little scared in bed. Or… perhaps not just a little?”

“Stop it!”

Sandor was crushing her into the bed with his weight. “And you get so bloody wet, nobody would believe,” he growled into her ear.

“Sandor!” Sansa couldn’t move under him, so she bit him in the arm. How could he talk like that to her! He was horrible. Such a horrible, horrible beast, how could Sansa Stark have such a discourteous husband?

He chuckled and pushed his finger between her legs. When Sansa hissed in pain, he stopped and narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you sore, little bird?”

“It’s to be expected,” Sansa pointed out.

“That’s not what I’m asking, girl,” he snarled. But then he shook his head and kissed her tenderly. “We can enjoy ourselves in plenty other ways, don’t worry. It’s not about a cock in a cunt, all that matters is that we’re together.”

He… we wouldn’t take her? “No, no, I’ll do my duty, Sandor!”

“Duty?” he raised his brow. “You’re bruised, little bird. I’ve made a right mess of your sweet cunt,” he gently stroked her between her legs.

Sansa arched her back, welcoming the touch. She was a good wife! “No, no, I’m fine, Sandor, I assure you. Or are you…” she swallowed. “Are you dissatisfied with me?” she peeped.

Sandor snorted. “And how would that ever happen?” He caressed her cheek. “No, little bird, I’ve made you bleed only yesterday and since then we’ve fucked more than most people do in a week. You need some rest,” he kept gently caressing her body, making her shiver. “I’m not exactly the smallest man, it will take some time getting used to,” he smirked. “Don’t ever feel pressured to do some stupid duty, there’s no such thing in a marriage, do you understand?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Sansa quickly explained. She wouldn’t neglect her duties, no matter how horrifying they were. Sandor needed her. “No, no, I’m fine,” she wrapped her arms and legs around him, bringing him closer. “Truly.”

Sandor grinned and bent down to kiss her. He rolled over to his back, though, pulling Sansa over to be on top of him. Well. That was unsettling.

“We can do whatever you want, little bird,” he murmured and tucked her hair behind her ear and ran his hands down her body. “It’s all up to you.”

Sansa looked anxiously around. What did Sandor expect her to do? She was a lady, she didn’t want intimate things. She only wanted to serve her husband well. She wasn’t supposed to be choosing what her lord husband needed. She didn’t understand Sandor’s games at all. Sansa’s glance fell on the massive manhood again. It was so scary! Sansa’s insides quivered in fear. How it had felt inside her, how it had filled her… It was true that she’d been hurting all day long, but that was a good thing, wasn’t it? She’d rather enjoyed the feeling, this special sort of pain had reminded her all day long that she now belonged to the fiercest warrior of all and she, too, was brave. She was the only one who could withstand the Hound, calm him down with her noble power. She liked being reminded that she was his and he was hers, it was a nice pain.

When Sandor groaned, Sansa realized that she’d been absentmindedly caressing his muscled body. And the thing between his legs twitched! It twitched! Had Sandor seen it twitch? It was so bizarre. She wondered what else the thing could do. It was so huge, there was something very special about the way it had filled her, even the way it had hurt. How would it feel if…

“You want to ride me, don’t you?” Sandor smirked.

“What?” Sansa furrowed her brows. When Sandor pointedly looked at his manhood, she couldn’t believe he was serious. Surely, he wasn’t suggesting…? “No! How could you think that!”

Sandor chuckled. “Well, you’re dripping all over me, girl,” he pointed out, stroking her thigh. “We should do something about that, don’t you think? You can sit on my face, too, I’d love that.”

“Sit… what?” Sansa was getting increasingly more horrified.

“Do whatever comes to your mind, girl,” the giant under her kept running his hands down her body, distracting her. “I’m fine with trying out anything, really. As long as you don’t get hurt and no shit is involved.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

He frowned, thinking further. “Also, no other people involved, either,” he added. “I know how much that wench is obsessed with you, but you’re mine. Only mine.”

Was he being jealous again? But why? They were all alone, it was ridiculous. “You’re not making any sense,” Sansa pursed her lips.

He chuckled. “How about you doing whatever you want in marriage bed, does that make sense, little bird? Ride me as hard as you can, if that’s what’s making you so wet.”

Sansa couldn’t believe her ears. “What…” she straightened up.

Sandor’s eyes slid lower, unabashedly focusing on her chest. “You have no idea how often I’ve imagined your teats bouncing above me,” he said huskily. “And I didn’t even know how divine they were,” he reached out, lazily moulding her breasts in his hands.

Sansa let out a quiet moan. How could his calloused palms feel so good against her delicate skin? There was truly something magical about this man, he had the most unexpected mystical skills.

Sandor’s hands slid lower. “Go on, girl. Show me what you like,” he lightly slapped her behind. 

“No!” Sansa escaped his grasp, swiftly getting out of the bed. How could he be so crass with her! She understood he needed to claim her body to keep his strength, but she was his wife, he should at least be courteous and polite to her. He should tell her she was pretty like a rose and delicate like the softest petals. He should claim her in any necessary manner, but never speak of it, or suggest she herself was wanting some things. It was so offensive!

Sandor cocked his head a little, watching her as she covered herself with a shawl. “No?”

“No,” Sansa pursed her. “You can’t expect me to do… such things.”

“Little bird, if you’re sore, or just had enough…”

“No, of course not!”

“Of course not?” He repeated, a mischievous grin pulling at his scars again as lazily stood up. His manhood was once again between them, but Sansa didn’t let that intimidate her. Sandor was so disgusting, not following any of the rules. She turned her back to him, not willing to look at all his horribleness.

“I’m a lady, Sandor, ladies don’t want these things!” she was talking with her back to Sandor, that’s what he’d get for misbehaving. “And you can’t speak like that with a lady, either, you know that!”

Sandor wasn’t remorseful at all, instead he took her shawl away in one decisive movement. “But I love a woman, little bird,” he growled behind her and bent down to gently bit at her shoulder. “And there’s no place for courtesies in bed.”

He truly wouldn’t apologize to her, would he? “Well, then I’m not returning to bed!” Sansa decided.

He chuckled. “Fine by me,” he bit at her ear, too.

Wrong again, it was all wrong. A punishment wasn’t supposed to be fine! Sandor was supposed to learn from his mistakes and improve his behaviour, talk to her in the way she deserved. But instead he was kissing her neck again. 

“Sandor!” Sansa moaned her protest.

His hand slid between her legs. “Do you think your pretty cunt can really take more today, little bird?”

“Of course,” Sansa ignored his language this time. She couldn’t allow Sandor to doubt her womanly strength. “I’m a good wife! I’m only talking about manners.”

“Ah, manners, where have I heard about those?”

Sansa turned around to scold her husband face to face. Well, her face ended up at the level of his hairy chest, so she had to take a step back and crane her neck. That wasn’t particularly useful for manifestation of the right, haughty authority. She needed to teach her husband about proper decorum, but Sandor apparently found her behaviour very amusing. He was so insufferable! Sansa didn’t share his humour at all. “You can’t discuss this… this…”

“Shagging?” he supplied her with a word helpfully and took her hand, placing teasing little kisses on her knuckles. “Or lovemaking, perhaps?”

Sansa pursed her lips. “You can’t discuss indecent topics with a lady, Sandor. Even your wife,” she educated him. “And ladies don’t have their own interest in… these things, you should know that! We’re simply vessels for our husbands’ desires.”

“Ah, I've married a vessel?

“That's not funny, Sandor.”

“Well, I’m glad my vessel is so wet for me, little bird, that must be some advanced vesselness," Sandor smirked. “Do ladies have an aversion towards tables, too?” he inquired playfully.

“What?” Sansa furrowed her brows in confusion. “No, I have nothing against tables. Are you even listening to me, Sandor? That wasn’t my point!”

“Great,” he gave her another wicked smile and lifted her up. He hastily pushed away the little box wrapped in silk which he’d brought and he laid Sansa down onto the table. Her legs were dangling in the air, but he immediately grabbed them, spreading them further to stand between them.

Sansa looked around in confusion. “What are you…”

When he stood closer, she knew exactly what he was doing. She was on a table and he was standing, but he didn’t care. He was so awful, she was still waiting for the apology!

Sansa gasped at the initial shock of his entry. Sandor was so rough, he didn’t even give her time to adjust to him before he plunged deeper into her. It wasn’t fair, he couldn’t end every discussion like this! But nothing could ever stop him from claiming her, Sansa knew that now. Sandor was of course completely obsessed with her just as could be expected of any true knight. But he was also the Hound, so he proved his affections in the most shocking ways. Now that he was standing between her legs and she could see him more clearly as he was claiming her, fear cut through her womb like a sword, a whimper escaping her lips. Sandor always reminded her of the monsters of her nightmares, but today he looked like that beast the Warrior had once unleashed upon people. The one that tore everyone apart. Sansa’s thighs looked terrifyingly tiny in Sandor’s hands, and to imagine what was inside of her… 

It did hurt, it hurt a lot, Sansa felt raw and battered, but Sandor’s magic transformed that pain into something amazing, which only intensified all the other sensations. Sandor was brutally stretching her, the sensitive spot between her legs was throbbing with every impact of his body against hers. Even the way he was gripping her legs was cruel. 

The man was watching her breasts with an utmost fascination, as if they were performing some special tricks. What was so appealing about them, anyway? Sansa’s breasts were completely normal, nothing unusual to see there. In fact, Sansa had never even seen breasts that would warrant any attention whatsoever. They certainly didn’t twitch like some other things. Sansa looked down. Oh. She quickly covered her breasts with her hands, so that Sandor wouldn’t see how they moved to match his own rhythm. She didn’t have bad breasts, they just moved a lot, she didn’t know how to prevent that.

“Stop it, girl,” Sandor barked out. “I want to see your pretty teats as I fuck you.”

“But…”

“What? Aren’t you a good girl?” he reprimanded her and leaned over, scaring her further.

Sansa swallowed. “I am, I…” she quickly put her hands down again. Of course, she was a good girl! She was the best wife, he should know. Sansa diligently brushed all the stray hair off her breasts, giving her husband an even better view. “Like this, Sandor?” she asked timidly. 

“That’s it,” the swordsman chuckled, unabashedly watching her breasts move as he thrust deeper into her. Her body truly belonged to him, didn’t he? He was doing with her whatever he wanted, forcing more breathless moans out of Sansa. “That’s my good girl,” he praised her. “Always eager to be fucked harder.”

Yes, she was a great wife. And when she didn’t try to control her moans, Sandor was even more satisfied with her. Perhaps she truly shouldn’t fight the sensations he was creating in her with his mind tricks. After all, Sandor was the man. Ladies knew more about manners and proper speech, but what happened on the marital bed was always decided by men. If Sandor wanted her to feel those things, as a good wife she should submit, shouldn't she? It made perfect sense. Otherwise he’d have to punish her and Seven have mercy, she couldn’t even imagine what that would look like with a beast like Sandor.

Sandor pulled out of her, obscenely rubbing his disgusting manhood against her most sensitive spot. Sansa didn’t know why. He should be inside her, filling her, stretching. She let out a loud lament, but Sandor only smirked. “What is it, little bird? Is it possible a lady wants a cock after all?”

“Sandor!”

“What?” Sandor chuckled, teasing her opening. “How was it? Obey your lord husband, let him fuck you bloody, but don’t ever talk about it and say what you yourself want?”

“I was just talking about basic manners!”

“Ah, right, those renowned manners again. I’d have a different name for it,” he sniggered. “Septas really are made of the same shit as knights, aren’t they?”

“Sandor!” Sansa had enough. He truly couldn’t speak like that! And especially while he was doing… while he was… well, this wasn’t a moment to talk! He should be inside her. And he still hadn’t apologized! Sansa tried to move away from him.

“Not so fast, little bird,” he yanked her hard back onto his manhood, making her cry out. He started claiming her with vicious ferocity. Her thighs were taut and shaking, and her stomach muscles clenched as an exquisite pressure built inside her. He bent over, bringing his scarred face to hers. “I have a husbandly duty, too, you know?” he spoke in a low rasp and scraped his teeth over her jawline. “And right now, my husbandly duty is to fuck all those proper teachings out of you.” 

“You’re so awful!” Sansa writhed. Why did he enjoy frightening her? He was doing all those horrible things to her again that made it impossible to think.

“Am I?” Sandor captured her lips in a rough, marauding kiss that left her breathless and gasping.

“Yes, you are!” she pushed against him, scratching him. It was as if she was trying to move a rock, though. He only laughed at her struggle. “You’re like a savage!” she whimpered.

Sandor chuckled. “How fortunate that my little bird loves some savage shagging. And fighting, too, it seems.”

Sansa wanted to disagree loudly, but he slammed hard into her, taking her voice away. Sansa was helpless against Sandor, she couldn’t do anything but move with him. Besides, she wanted to be a good wife, she wanted to obey him, she simply wanted to teach him some manners, too. Their interactions should be nice and polite and proper. She just didn’t know what to do about it, she needed… something. Him. Inside her. This. But also to prove that she was a good girl. And… and everything was confusing.

“Well?” he bared his teeth in a feral smile. “Will you admit how much you love this?”

Sansa was sobbing, quaking, but she courageously managed to shake her head in defiance.

She expected him to mock her again, but instead he lifted her legs higher. Sandor was savagely manhandling her, lifting her, bending her body to his will. Her moans mingled with the wet sound of slapping flesh. And it was torture. Sansa was arching against him, desperate for the coiling need at her core to release, unfurl. When she cried out, he finally slowed down, but it was too late, too late. His cruel magic had latched onto her like a wild beast, gripping her throat, shaking her body, making her explode with painful pleasure. Sandor pulled out of her, but when he curled his finger inside her, it only intensified Sansa’s horrifying condition. 

When she opened her eyes for a moment, Sandor had that smug little smile on his lips again. “It’s not courtesies that make you come, girl, you can’t deny that,” he rasped, looming above her, his manhood in his hand. Sansa ignored him, even when he stole a kiss from her. Her mind was somewhere else, her body helplessly trembling. But Sandor was too cruel, his hand hadn’t left her woman’s place and he kept teasing her shamelessly, further prolonging her suffering. He was grunting like an animal, but Sansa didn’t open her eyes this time. Sandor was too confusing, she didn’t want to see him, she was floating on a cloud of her own. Something hot landed on her chest, however, something… something… Sansa opened her eyes, blinking in surprise. What had happened?

Some awful, white fluid was covering her breasts. And stomach. And… No, it was everywhere, it was warm and ugly. And odd, it was so odd. And Sandor was grinning as if it was the most amazing thing! What had happened? She was… he was… Everyone was… What? With one hand, Sandor gently caressed her between her legs, forcing more whimpers out of her, and with the other, he touched the white awfulness on her breasts, spreading it down. “So fucking gorgeous,” he murmured delightedly. “So fucking mine.”

So very horrible. Sansa closed her eyes. Teaching the Hound some manners would be even more difficult than she’d thought.


End file.
